


Down Time

by Disasteriffic_Kaz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Hurt Dean, Hurt Sam, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2139330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disasteriffic_Kaz/pseuds/Disasteriffic_Kaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blood and death stalk a quiet logging town. Sounds like a perfect place for the Winchesters to recover. post 2x03 ‘Blood Lust’ hurt/caring/awesome!Sam/Dean</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This story began as a Reader’s Special Reward story for Becksupernatural. I had so much fun with this one that I needed… NEEDED… to give it a complete story and here we are. :D Hope you enjoy the ride.
> 
> Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.
> 
> **Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!  
> ~Reviews are Love~

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_**Chapter 1** _

“Don’t Sam. Jesus, just stay down.” Dean put a hand on his little brother’s shoulder and kept him from getting out of the hospital bed.

“Too dangerous.” Sam tried to push off his brother’s hand and missed as his vision swam. “You’re still wanted.”

“Yeah, four states over. I’ll be fine. You, on the other hand, your head’s cracked. Stay down.” Dean sighed and waited until Sam settled back into the bed. It had been one of the more frightening drives of his life, peeling down the highway with his little brother’s bleeding head in his lap, soaking his jeans, and Sam too unconscious to respond to him. The hit Sam had taken had been in Dean’s place, his little brother diving between Dean’s unprotected back and a fifty pound statue. That ghost had been real pissed off about being laid to rest. The bandage wrapped around Sam’s head now was a testament to Dean’s sense of failure. If he’d been paying more attention, it wouldn’t have happened; at least that’s what he continued to tell himself. “Don’t move. I’m gonna grab a coffee.”

Sam blew out a breath and put a hand over his aching eyes. “Fine. I promise I won’t move. Couldn’t walk outta here even if I wanted to. Dammit.”

Dean patted his shoulder and stepped outside. He took out his cell and dialed as he walked, smiling when the call was picked up on the first ring. “Bobby.”

“How’d the salt and burn go?”

“’Bout that. Old man Wendell’s ghost tried to cave Sammy’s head in with a damn statue.” Dean smiled when Bobby cursed. “Yeah. Damn near cracked his egg-head open. We’re down for two weeks, Bobby. Doc’s orders. Sam’s got the granddaddy of all concussions and it needs to heal. You got anywhere nearby we can lay low?”

“Balls. That bad? Yeah. Matter of fact, I do.” Bobby pushed back his worry for Sam. Dean would make sure his little brother was alright. “There’s an old hunter’s cabin ‘bout an hour from you. Small town, mostly logging up there, but you should be able to make him comfortable.” He rattled off the address and directions and smiled when Dean recited them back perfectly. “It ain’t been cleaned in a while, but I figure you remember how to work a broom.”

“Funny. I’ll bust Sam outta here later and take him up there.” Dean stopped at the coffee machine and pumped change into it, jabbing the button for the black sludge that masqueraded as coffee. “He’s worried I’m gonna get busted in this place for some damn reason.”

“Should you be worried about that?” Bobby asked in sudden concern.

“Naw. No one’s got any reason to look at me twice here. We’ll be fine.” Dean took the cup and sniffed the watery brew disdainfully before turning to head back to Sam’s room. He stopped at the door and blew out a breath. “Scared me, Bobby. You should have seen all the damn blood.”

“He’ll be fine. You won’t let ‘im be any other way,” Bobby said firmly. “Go take care of your brother, Dean.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean hung up and put his phone away. He was gratified to see Sam where he’d left him when he walked in. “Talked to Bobby. He’s got a cabin about an hour from here. We’re gonna lay low for a week while your head heals. Maybe two.”

“Couple days,” Sam said stubbornly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Did you miss the part where the doc said your skull was almost fractured? Or maybe the part where we had to tell you five times in ten minutes where you were ‘cause you kept forgetting. We’re takin’ some damn down time, Sam. I’m not screwin’ around with this.”

Sam huffed out an irritated breath and relented. “Alright. You’re right. Sorry.”

“Damn right, you’re sorry. Look at my jeans!” Dean waved a hand at his now brown, blood-stained jeans. “That ain’t comin’ out.”

Sam smirked and looked up at his brother. “They were getting tight on you anyway.”

“You tryin’ to say I’m gettin’ fat?”

“Nope.”

“I will hurt you.” Dean glared at Sam as his little brother chuckled. “Get some sleep before I bust you outta here, bitch.”

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Sam groaned loudly when the car finally stopped and didn’t dare move his head from where it rested on the window. It had been a rough hour’s drive from the hospital, and they’d had to stop twice so he could leave his lunch on the side of the road. “Sucks,” he mumbled as the engine went silent and he felt Dean’s hand on his shoulder.

“Just gimme a minute to make sure there’s somewhere to lay your gigantor ass out, ok?” Dean watched Sam’s pale face and smiled when he nodded. “No moving ‘til I get back.” He opened his door, climbed out and stretched. It had not been a fun drive for either of them, and he wanted Sam out of the car and laid out somewhere before the kid’s head decided to spin and make him puke again. Dean jogged up the short path to the porch of the little cabin and looked it over. It seemed to be in decent repair with dark, brown shutters over the windows and log walls that were dark with the rain that had stopped twenty minutes before. It was a single story house with a peaked roof and a wide chimney that made him smile. At least they wouldn’t freeze since he doubted the place could boast a furnace.

Dean kicked up the corner of the aging mat in front of the door and chuckled to find the key exactly where Bobby said it would be. He picked it up, opened the front door and sneezed. “Great.” Dust swirled up from the floor as he walked inside and he knew it had been a long damn time since anyone had stopped there. There was a couch and a big chair, both covered in dusty white drop-cloths and Dean pulled the cloth from the couch; careful to not send up clouds of dust. He balled it up and threw it in the corner. The fireplace was covered by a grate and he tugged that away for a quick look in the dim light. It looked clean enough. He’d just hope the chimney wasn’t clogged with leaves.

“It’ll have to do,” he said grimly and went back outside to get his brother. “Sammy?” Dean asked as he pulled the passenger door open and reached in to prop his brother up before he could slump out of the car. “You with me?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Sam raised his head slowly and took hold of the hand Dean held out. “Tell me there’s somewhere in there to lay down.”

Dean smirked. “Yeah. Got a dusty old couch all ready for ya. Come on.” He pulled Sam up slowly and staggered under his weight as Sam’s legs took a moment to catch his balance. “Good?”

“More or… or less. Yeah. Think so.” Sam slipped an arm over Dean’s shoulders and tried to ignore the way the ground seemed to dip and heave under his feet as he moved. “Hate concussions.”

“Yeah, me too, buddy. Here we go. Two steps.” Dean guided Sam up onto the small porch and then inside. “You lay down and I’ll open some windows and air this place out.”

“Deal.” Sam wanted to help, he really did, but he knew he needed to be lying down and the old couch suddenly looked like nirvana as they neared. “S’not dusty.”

“It was covered. Come on. Here you go.” Dean eased Sam down to the couch and propped a pillow up under his head as he went slowly over to his side. “You good or you gonna hurl again?”

“No.” Sam shook his head once, instantly regretting it and closed his eyes. “M’ok.”

“Yeah, you’re great.” Dean watched his brother for a moment, making sure he wasn’t going to paint the floor and then stepped away. “Back in a minute.” He jogged back outside and started pulling bags out of the trunk, theirs and the grocery bags he’d stopped for while Sam had been asleep. Bobby had been clear that the place was empty. It took him two trips to get everything inside and Sam looked to have dozed off yet again. Dean set about prying open the windows and the shutters, thankful that the glass was intact. The kitchen wasn’t too frightening, except for the dust and Dean grinned to find the electricity had been turned on -- Bobby’s doing no doubt -- and the refrigerator was already cool. He piled the perishables inside and then went to have a look at the bedroom situation.

“Not bad.” Dean smiled. The bedroom, though small, boasted two queen size beds backed against each wall. They’d have to make do with blankets from the trunk until he could get to the store again. Dean quickly flipped the dusty mattress on the bed furthest from the door, leaving the clean side up and went back out into the living room to kneel next to his brother’s head. “Sammy?” He tapped his jaw lightly to get his attention and smiled again when Sam’s eyes fluttered open. “Earth to Sammy. You in there?”

“Dean? What…” Sam looked around in confusion and then back to his brother. “Where are we?”

Dean’s heart fell a little with the question, but the doctor had told him Sam might be confused for a few days. “We’re at that cabin Bobby told us about, remember?”

Sam shook his head and tried to sit up. “N-no. I… why’s my head hurt?”

“Oh, boy. Ok. Take a minute and breathe. It’ll come to you.” Dean helped him sit up and held him there while Sam stared intently at the floor.

“Ghost.” Sam said at last and closed his eyes. “There was a… and it hit me.” He looked up at his brother. “Was tryin’ to hit you.”

“Right and you tossed your enormous skull in the way instead.” Dean smirked. “Good job by the way. Next time, how about you just push me outta the way?”

“Too slow.” Sam put a hand up to his head and groaned. “Damn that hurts.”

“Got a bed for ya to stretch out on. Come on. You need some real rack time, not this rickety, short couch. Here we go. Up.”

“M’not five,” Sam protested, but he let his big brother tug him to his feet and would have gone right back down if not for the hold Dean had on him.

“You sound like it right now.” Dean chuckled and led Sam down the short hall to the bedroom. He helped his brother to lie down and swung his legs up for him.

Sam sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “Smells musty.”

“That’s ‘cause the last person who slept in here was wearing a hoop skirt.” Dean smirked at him. “You should feel right at home.”

“Jerk.”

Dean chuckled and patted his hip. “Lem’me go grab a blanket.”

Sam nodded and rolled slowly to his side, pillowing his aching head on his arm. His lapses in memory were really starting to get on his nerves. He could remember several instances of Dean asking him questions about things he should have known. He remembered the doctor asking him where home was, and the only answer Sam had for him was ‘Impala’. The doctor had thought he was confused, but he distinctly recalled Dean’s grin on the other side of the room. There were some things no head injury could take from him it seemed. He looked around the little bedroom and saw the small television set on the bureau across from him. Sam had found it a little steadying in the hospital with the television on in the room with the volume on low. It had given him something to focus on each time he woke up and he was beginning to miss it.

Dean bustled back into the room with an armful of blankets. He spread one out over his brother’s legs and tapped his shoulder. “Lift your head for a sec.”

Sam picked his head up carefully and felt his brother push a folded blanket under it like a pillow before he set it back down with a soft sigh. He opened one eye and looked at the little television again. “That tv work?”

“Let’s find out.” Dean went to the aging set and pushed the power button. He grinned when it turned on. “Yahtzee!” He flipped through the few available channels and settled on the news, turning the sound down loud enough for Sam to hear it but low enough to let him sleep. “How’s that?”

Sam closed his eyes with the background noise and smiled. “Good. Thanks, Dean.” He let the low drone of the reporter’s voices lull him while Dean moved off into the cabin, no doubt trying to dust the place into submission. He could hear Dean cursing every so often and smiled. The news caught his attention as he realized it was the third time he’d heard bodies mentioned and Sam opened his eyes to look at the screen and really listen.

_“Reports are sketchy, but police have confirmed three bodies have now been found in the forest surrounding Cragger’s Mill. As yet, we have no details on the identities or state of the bodies or the cause of death. It’s the off-season for loggers, and people are scarce on the mountain. One eyewitness claimed there were pieces scattered everywhere. Is this the work of wild animals or is there something darker stalking our streets?”_

Sam lifted his head to watch an aerial view of the mountains, the dense forests with logging roads sliced through them, and the little town nestled at the base. “That’s not good.”

“What’s not good?” Dean asked as he came back and saw Sam with his head up.

“I think there’s a hunt here.” Sam waved an arm toward the television and let his head rest back down as it started to pound. “Found bodies.”

“There’s bodies all over the place. Doesn’t mean it’s our kind of thing.” Dean glanced at the tv and then bent to flip the mattress on the other bed. “Bobby wouldn’t send us here if there were somethin’ munchin’ on the locals.”

“He probably didn’t know.” Sam opened his eyes again and watched his brother. “Dean, if it is our sort of job… we have to do something.”

“Whoa. We’re not doin’ a damn thing until your melon’s not cracked anymore,” Dean said firmly. He saw the stubborn set of Sam’s jaw and rolled his eyes. “Ok, look. I gotta go into town anyway to pick up a few things. I’ll check it out, alright? Will that satisfy you? I’ll look into it.”

“Yes.” Sam trusted Dean not to lie to him about a job. “If you tell me it’s nothing, I’ll believe you.”

“Alright, then. Get some sleep already. I’ll be gone at least an hour and I don’t want you tryin’ to walk around without me.” Dean pulled the blanket up higher to Sam’s chest and patted his shoulder. “Just stay put.” He’d salted all the doors in the cabin and the windows too, not willing to risk anything with his little brother helpless inside. He picked up the salt canister he’d brought in with him and reached over his brother to pour a heavy, thick white line on the window ledge. “Here.” He set a bottle of water on the nightstand and his brother’s phone. “You need somethin’, you call me. You don’t get up on your own. You hear me?”

“Yes, mom.” Sam smiled and would have laughed if he didn’t think it would hurt too much. “Go on. Sooner you look into this the better.”

“Knew I shouldn’t have left the news on with your geek brain online.” Dean chuckled and left the room. He grabbed up his jacket and looked back toward the bedroom, suddenly not fond of the idea of leaving Sam on his own, not if there really was something munching on people in this damn town. “Dammit.” He went out to the car and looked at the little cabin backed by trees and took out his phone to call Bobby. “Better not be a damn job in this town. Not now.”

Dean dialed Bobby as he drove down the mountain toward town. “Bobby. So Sam was watchin’ the news, and it looks like there might be a job in this town. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Balls! Are you serious?” Bobby jerked up out of his chair and took his coffee with him into the living room and his computer. “Dean, I swear I wouldn’t’a sent you two up there if there was somethin’ screwy goin’ on, not with Sam hurt.”

“I know, man. I know. Just… check it out, would ya’? I’m gonna hit up the coroner’s office here and see what I can find. They’ve got bodies on the ground.” Dean turned a hard corner and slowed as a deer wandered across the road in front of him. “I’m gonna have a hell of a time keepin’ Sam outta this if there is something here.”

“I know. Boy’s like a dog with a bone. Lem’me have a look and I’ll call you back.” Bobby booted up his laptop with a curse. “Sorry, Dean.” Mentally, he calculated that he was about five and a half hours from the boys and could be there in no time if he needed to and he was starting to feel like he needed to.

“Don’t worry about it.” Dean eased past the deer and sped up again. “I’m not gonna borrow trouble ‘til I know whether it’s our kind of job or not. Later, Bobby.” He flipped the phone closed and put his attention back on the mountain road. The town came into view, small and sleepy looking, nestled in among the trees and half hidden by them. Lights were just beginning to come on as the sun began to set and the streets were fairly empty of people. He figured the town was probably bustling during logging season.

The police station was easy to find and the coroner’s office was a small building attached to it, making Dean’s life easier. He dug through the glove box for the right ID and smiled as he found his FBI badge and pocketed it. “Let’s see if Agent Rogers can turn up anything interesting.” He missed having Sam beside him as he walked up to the station and inside. His little brother had a knack for putting people at ease and getting information out of them. It was those damn puppy dog eyes of his; no one could resist them, including Dean.

“Can I help you?” A burly desk sergeant stopped Dean inside the door.

“Yeah, I need to speak with your coroner.” Dean pulled out his badge and flipped it open. “Agent Rogers. I’ve got some questions about these bodies you’ve turned up.”

“Well, hell. The chief ain’t gonna be happy to see you. Come on.” The sergeant sighed and waved Dean around the desk. “I’m Sergeant Hibbert. What are you doin’ here anyway?”

Dean snorted. “Believe it or not, I’m just up here with my partner. He took a hard hit on our last case. Came up here to let him rest up and then we hear about this. Boss said since we’re here, we may as well have a look, like we don’t have anything better to do.”

The sergeant rolled his eyes in understanding. “Assholes never let ya’ have five minutes, do they?”

“Never.” Dean grinned at how easily he’d won the sergeant’s sympathy.

“How is your partner?”

“Took a hell of a hit to the head, but he’ll be good, assuming I can keep his ass down for five minutes.” Dean followed the man through into the coroner’s and gave the pretty woman sitting at a desk a long look. “He’s stubborn.”

The sergeant chuckled. “Yeah, I know the type. You and the chief are gonna butt heads. Fair warning. He’s a good guy, though. Try not to step on his toes too much.”

“Promise, man. I’m just here to have a look so I can tell my boss it’s nothin’ and get the hell outta your hair.” Dean raised a hand in promise as they pushed through a set of doors. “This was supposed to be a quiet two weeks for us.”

“Malcolm?” Sergeant Hibbert called to the two men in the room and smiled when the larger of them turned to look. “Got a fed here for ya. Try not to chew his head off. He’s just doin’ his job. Agent Rogers, Chief Malcolm Cander. Enjoy.”

“A fed?” Chief Cander glared over at Dean. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Like I told the sarge, I’m just checkin’ it out for my boss. Got a bug up his ass about this. Believe me, I don’t wanna be here either.” Dean stepped forward and held out his hand. “I came up here to let my partner heal up from a bad blow to the head, and then we got the call about this crap. I ain’t happy.”

“Partner?” Malcolm’s dour expression softened at the mention of a wounded agent. “How bad did he get tagged?”

“Bad enough he’s out of it for a couple weeks.” Dean wasn’t above playing up Sam’s injury if it got him in with the chief, not that he had to play it up. It was serious enough. “The bastard we brought in didn’t wanna come quietly and cracked him over the back of the head with a fifty pound statue. Rattled his brains but good.”

“Jesus. Sorry to hear that.” Malcolm blew out a breath and looked at the agent. He seemed young in his street clothes, the battered leather jacket speaking of hard years spent on a hard job. “Alright, look. I’ll show you what we’ve got and you can tell your boss there’s nothin’ to worry about. We’ve got it under control, and you can go back to taking care of your partner.”

“Deal.” Dean shook the man’s hand and smiled. “Kid’s stubborn as hell too. If he thinks there’s something we should be lookin’ at, I won’t be able to keep him down.”

Malcolm chuckled. “I’ve got a deputy like that. Ok, come on. This is Fred Robertson, our M.E. Fred, show him the files.”

“Hey, Agent. Sorry to hear about your partner.” Fred shook Dean’s hand and grabbed a file off the table. “Don’t have much, but it looks like your basic, run-of-the-mill serial killer offin’ people and dumpin’ what’s left in the forest. Happens sometimes.”

“Right.” Dean took the folder and opened it. He frowned as he read the reports on the bodies. “What’s he using to kill them?”

“Well, there are definite signs of a knife being used on some of the bones, so that’d be my guess.” Fred shrugged. “The wildlife doesn’t leave a whole lot to pick through around here.”

“Odds are, whoever it is has moved on by now.” The chief leaned against the wall of freezer doors and watched Dean reading the file. “Killers like this don’t tend to stick around too long, especially in small towns where everybody knows everybody. They stay on the move.”

Dean nodded and flicked through the autopsy photos. They were black and white, grainy, and made it hard to tell what he was looking at, but he was inclined to agree with the chief. A human killer wasn’t their job, and he could put Sam off about it. “Looks straight-forward enough. How many…”

The doors to the autopsy room banged open suddenly and two deputies pushed in with a tarp-covered gurney and grim faces. “Chief! We got another one!”

“Dammit.” Chief Cander glared at the gurney.

Dean watched as one of the deputies grabbed the tarp and peeled it off the remains. It had clearly once been a person, but there wasn’t a lot left. He moved up alongside with the chief to look down and swallowed hard. The body had been dismembered. The left leg rested beside the head but the disturbing part wasn’t the jumbled limbs, gnawed bones, or bits of shredded muscle and sinew; it was the pile of almost gelatinous flesh that they had scooped up and deposited with the body. He could see bits of bone and even a tooth and Dean’s blood went cold. He knew what they were dealing with. “Son of a bitch.”

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_To Be Continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Chapters of this will likely be written in between reward chapters so expect a day or two at least between each. :D
> 
> Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_“Odds are whoever it is has moved on by now.” The chief leaned against the wall of freezer doors and watched Dean reading the file. “Killers like this don’t tend to stick around too long. They stay on the move.”_

_Dean nodded and flicked through the autopsy photos. They were black and white, grainy and made it hard to tell what he was looking at but he was inclined to agree with the chief. A human killer wasn’t their job and he could put Sam off about it. “Looks straight-forward enough. How many…”_

_The doors to the autopsy room banged open suddenly and two deputies pushed in with a tarp-covered gurney and grim faces. “Chief! We got another one!”_

_“Dammit.” Chief Cander glared at the gurney._

_Dean watched as one of the deputies grabbed the tarp and peeled it off the remains. It had clearly once been a person but there wasn’t a lot left. He moved up alongside with the chief to look down and swallowed hard. The body had been dismembered. The left leg rested beside the head but the disturbing part wasn’t the jumbled limbs, gnawed bones or bits of shredded muscle and sinew; it was the pile of almost gelatinous flesh that they had scooped up and deposited with the body. He could see bits of bone and even a tooth and Dean’s blood went cold. He knew what they were dealing with. “Son of a bitch.”_

_**Chapter 2** _

Sam rolled slowly to his back and stared up at the ceiling. “Crap,” he groaned. He was perfectly happy to keep his word to Dean and not get up until he returned, but Sam’s bladder had other ideas. If he didn’t get up soon, he was going to embarrass hell out of himself. “Ok. I can do this.”

Sam rolled back to his side and very slowly, very carefully, pushed himself up until he was sitting. He swung his legs off the bed to the floor and tugged the blanket away. His head swam and the room spun and he closed his eyes until it stopped. “Shit. Get it together.” He cautiously stood and thumped back down before pushing to his feet again. It was a bit like trying to walk on the deck of a wildly rolling ship. Sam swayed across the short space and caught himself on the edge of the dresser with the television. He stood there for a moment and waited for the vertigo to subside a little before moving again. He walked slowly out into the hall and staggered across it to the bathroom door.

“Geez, this place is dusty,” he groaned as he turned on the light and saw the thin layer of dust that coated everything, including the toilet lid. Sam bent to open the toilet and his head spun. He ended up bent over resting his head on the back of the toilet. He sneezed from the dust and went to his knees.

“Jesus,” he groaned as it sent a fresh wave of pain rolling through his head. Sam pushed it back and got slowly, sluggishly back to his feet, determined not be defeated by the simple need to piss. He decided he would never admit to how long it took him to regain his feet and relieve himself. He was exhausted by the time he staggered back out into the hall and wasn’t sure anymore how long his brother had been gone. Time seemed to blur for him. It was darker inside the cabin, like the sun had started to set, and he found a switch on the wall.

Sam flicked the light and reared back until his back hit the wall and he slid down it. “Holy shit!” A wolf stood at the back of the hall staring at him with a look that was a cross between cautious curiosity and the way Dean might stare at a table full of pies. He could feel a breeze on his face that told him a door somewhere back there was open, or maybe a window, and the wolf had likely crept inside unseen. Sam sat on the floor with pain thumping through his head, dizziness making him want to slide over to his side and staring down what he hoped wasn’t a hungry wolf. He was defenseless. He had no weapons, not even a knife. “Ok, buddy,” Sam said softly to the wolf that had yet to move. “You just… you stay over there, and I’m… I’m gonna… go find a really big gun and… and I’ll be fine. Holy shit.”

The wolf watched as Sam tried to get to his feet, failed and slid back down to the floor. “Crap,” Sam groaned and froze as the wolf took a few steps down the hall, probably sensing instinctively that this was weakened prey in front of him. “Whoa. Whoa.” He held up a hand toward the animal and felt completely exposed. “Please don’t eat me.”

“Sammy?” The front door banged open and the wolf froze, going low to the floor.

“Dean!” Sam called as loud as he dared. “Bring a gun!”

“Bring a what?” Dean turned into the hall and had to stop and stare for a moment as he let his mind adjust to what he was seeing -- his little brother sitting on the floor backed against a wall and a damn wolf at the other end of the hall eyeing him like he was a juicy steak. Dean quickly drew the gun at his back and aimed it at the wolf. “Ok, buddy. I don’t wanna shoot you but it’s gonna happen if you don’t turn around and get the hell out.” Dean took a step down the hall and the wolf moved back from him. “That’s it. Come on.”

Dean kept taking measured steps down the hall and the wolf continued to back away from him, as though it understood that it was staring down someone even more alpha than itself. “Don’t make me shoot you,” Dean said softly as the wolf continued to back away. It turned suddenly and vanished around the corner. He followed after it and saw that the back door had popped open at some point. “Son of a bitch,” he groaned and slammed the door shut. Dean pulled over a short bookshelf and propped it in front of the door before going back out to his brother.

“Only you, Sammy.” Dean put his gun up and knelt in front of his brother. “What the hell happened? Since you couldn’t go out to find trouble, you decided to invite it in instead?”

“Had to piss,” Sam said and held out a hand for Dean to take and then smiled a little breathlessly now that the danger was passed. “Came out and the wolf was just… just there, man. Wow.”

“Thought I told you to stay in bed?” Dean pulled Sam up and steadied him against the wall when he swayed. “Ok?”

Sam nodded once. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. And what part of ‘had to piss’ don’t you get?”

“Ok, here we go. Back to bed.” Dean pulled Sam across the hall and back into the bedroom. He guided him to sit on the side of the other bed. “Stay here for a sec. I hit up Wal-Mart on my way back and got some sheets and shit for the bed.

“Kay.” Sam braced his hands on either side of him on the bed and closed his eyes to keep the dizziness at bay.

Dean dashed back out to the front door and grabbed the bag he’d dropped. “Only my little brother.” He went back to the bedroom and smiled, seeing Sam still sitting up stubbornly. “Two minutes,” Dean said as he pulled out a set of sheets and went about dressing his brother’s bed in a hurry. “Ok, there we go. Good enough for sasquatches. Come on.”

Sam stood and swayed over to the other bed. He let his head sink gratefully into the new pillow Dean shoved under it and put both hands up to cradle his aching skull. “How much longer is this gonna last?”

“The screaming headaches?” Dean asked and bent to tug Sam’s boots off. “Doc said a couple of days probably. The dizziness a couple more after that. Good thing one of us was listening.” He tossed Sam’s boots to the floor and pulled the new sheet and the blanket up over his brother. “Get comfy. I’ll make something to eat soon.”

“Hey, Dean?” Sam smiled up at his brother. “Thanks.”

“Takin’ care of your gigantor ass is my job.” Dean shrugged with a smirk. “Someone’s gotta do it. Get some sleep.” He went back out into the hall and blew out a breath in relief. Sam’s scattered memory was working in his favor as his little brother seemed to have forgotten that Dean was supposed to be looking into the deaths. No doubt Sam would remember later, but for now Dean would just keep his mouth shut and call Bobby instead… and make sure no more wolves were going to wander into the damn cabin while they were sleeping. “It’s like camping with walls. I hate camping.”

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Sam woke with a start and opened his eyes. The only light was from a little television across from him and he was overcome with confusion and the inability to remember where he was or why he was there. “Dean!” he called, seeing that the bed beside him was empty.

“Sam? Hey! Calm down.” Dean ran into the bedroom and grabbed the arm Sam flung out toward him. “Take it easy. You took a blow to the head and we’re in a cabin Bobby sent us to so you can heal up, alright? Your memory’s a little screwy right now. No big deal.” This was the third time in as many hours that Dean had coming running to his little brother’s shout. Sleep seemed to temporarily wipe Sam’s short-term memory clean.

“Cabin.” Sam frowned and used his grip on Dean’s arm to pull himself up so he was sitting. “There… there was a wolf? Or did I imagine that?”

“Nope. There was a wolf. Bastard snuck in the back door.” Dean chuckled and helped Sam until he was sitting on the side of the bed. “How you feel about gettin’ up and eating something?”

Sam considered it and decided he was hungry. “Yeah, I could eat.” It was all coming back to him in a rush. He stood carefully and with Dean’s guidance made it out of the bedroom and into the living room where his brother pushed him down onto the couch in front of a fire crackling merrily in the large fireplace. The cabin looked different now that lights were on, the dust-covers were gone, the fire lit, and it looked like Dean had attacked the place with a broom while he’d slept. “Wow. Almost feels… homey in here.”

“I got bored. I cleaned.” Dean chuckled and went to the kitchen. He pulled the sandwiches he’d made earlier out of the refrigerator along with a beer for him and a bottle of Gatorade for his brother and went out to sit next to him. “Here you go.” He placed the plate in Sam’s lap and handed him the bottle. “How you feelin’?”

“Like my head got caved in,” Sam said easily and smirked at the disgusted look on Dean’s face. “Alright. My head’s pounding, but the room’s not spinning right now.” He picked up his sandwich and took a bite. “Also m’hungry now.”

Dean smiled and bit into his own sandwich. They ate companionably in front of the fire for several minutes and Dean slapped his brother’s hand away from his beer. “No beer for you until your head’s in one piece again.”

Sam snorted and drank his Gatorade instead. He looked sideways at his brother. “I remember by the way.”

“Great. What?”

“The bodies.”

“Damn.” Dean groaned and set his beer aside. “Ok, look. I did go to the local PD and have a look around.”

“And?” Sam watched Dean’s face and saw the answer there. “It is our kind of job, isn’t it?”

Dean rose and went to his jacket. He pulled out the file he’d brought home with him and took it back to the couch. He handed it to Sam and went to poke at the fire, resigned to telling him the truth and convincing him to stay out of it. “Think so, yeah. Shapeshifter, more than likely.” He nudged the logs around and put the grate back in place. “Look. I’ll check into it but you’re not getting involved, Sam. It’s one shifter. I can handle it.”

“Yeah, cause we came out so well the last time we hunted a shifter,” Sam said darkly and looked up to see the same, grim expression on his brother’s face. Sam would certainly never forget being nearly choked to death by something wearing Dean’s face. “You can’t hunt this thing with no backup. I’m…”

“Going to stay the hell here and not put your ass on the line this time!” Dean said loudly. He took a deep breath and reined his temper in. “Sammy, you can’t. What happens if you come up against this thing and your head decides to do another spin and dump you on the ground? You gonna ask it to wait nicely until you can stand and shoot again?”

“Look.” Sam said calmly and tried for reasonable. “It’s going to take a few days to track it down. I’m gonna be a hell of a lot better by that point and I can back you up. I can, Dean. We can’t just leave this thing to keep killing people because I’ve got a headache.”

Dean ground his teeth together and worked to not let his temper flare. Shouting wasn’t going to do Sam any favors, though it might serve to prove his point. “Sam. You can barely stand for five damn minutes right now. I might be persuaded to let you do some research tomorrow, but you’re sure as hell not goin’ out there to hunt it down with me. We find it. I’ll call Bobby if you really want.”

“Dammit, Dean.” Sam leaned back and set his empty plate aside. There was no way he could say he didn’t want his brother out of his sight with a shifter around because he was paranoid after the last time, but it was true. It frightened him on a visceral level. “Just… let me go through these reports, ok? Don’t… don’t do anything or… just let me look.”

Dean could hear the unspoken plea. Sam didn’t want to risk something other than Dean wearing his face coming after him and Dean couldn’t fault him for that fear. It had shaken him to the core to come through that door and see what looked like himself with his hands around a barely conscious Sam’s throat. “Ok. You can do research until I think your head can’t take it anymore. Got me?” Reading had been on the list of prohibited activities for the next few days along with loud music and too much moving around.

Sam relaxed slightly and leaned back, opening the file. He glanced up at Dean and quirked a brow. “It’s not like you to give in that easy.”

Dean snorted. “Don’t even start. I’m not slicin’ my arm up with a silver knife right now.”

Sam grinned and bent to read the reports. He went through them slowly, paying attention to the few details the police had. He was frowning by the time he got to the autopsy reports, and the frown had become a scowl once he started looking at the autopsy photos. “Are you sure it’s a shifter?”

Dean came back from the kitchen where he’d been scrubbing grime out of the sink and dropped into the easy chair across from his brother. “Yeah. Saw the pile of goo myself, dude. Only one thing does that.”

“Hmm.” Sam went back to the photos and then the reports. “I don’t know. I think maybe there’s more than just the shifter. These bite patterns…”

“Wildlife,” Dean answered easily. “The bodies are being dumped in the forest, and the critters are snacking on ‘em before the cops find ‘em.”

“Yeah; but are you sure? Some of these bite patterns are really big.” Sam picked up one photo and handed it to his brother.

“So there’s a bear.” Dean shrugged and glanced at the grainy picture. “Can’t tell much of anything from these crap pictures.”

“Too big for a bear I think. Not to mention it’s the wrong time of year really.” Sam shook his head. “I think there’s something else up there.”

Dean turned the photo toward the fire, but he couldn’t see anything to get excited about. He looked up and noticed the pallor of his brother’s face and the lines between his eyes that said he was in pain. “Ok, research done for the night. Gimme.” Dean quickly gathered up the files and photos and tossed them on the table. “Horizontal time for you again, little brother.”

Sam rubbed a hand over his head, careful of the healing wound on the back of his skull and nodded slowly. “Yeah, ok.” He stood and would have overbalanced back to the couch but for Dean’s hands on his shoulders, and that just made him grind his teeth. He was tired of not being able to balance on his own and, if Dean was right, he still had days of that to deal with. And as much as he’d never admit it out loud, his brother was also right about him being in no shape to hunt until this passed.

“I know it’s frustrating, Sam,” Dean said. He could almost hear his brother’s teeth grinding with frustration. “But if you push this too fast, you’ll end up back in the damn hospital.”

“I know. I know, ok?” Sam was shaky by the time they reached the bedroom and he sat heavily. “It just sucks.”

“You’re gonna have me chewin’ glass by the time this week’s up, aren’t you?” Dean asked with a laugh and gave him a gentle nudge over into the bed. “Might have to call Bobby up here just to run interference.”

Sam closed his eyes, listening to Dean move around the room. He noticed his brother didn’t turn off the television and Sam smiled because of course Dean wouldn’t miss a detail like that when it came to his well-being. His big brother must have noticed that it helped him. “Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean pulled off his t-shirt and dug his sweats out of his duffel.

“I really think there’s something more than just a shifter out there.” Sam said it sincerely and needed Dean to trust him. “Don’t go looking alone.”

“Sam, I won’t go after the shifter alone, alright? Happy?” Dean tossed his balled up jeans at his brother’s face and pulled his sweats on before Sam threw them back. Paranoia was one of the possible symptoms for a concussion as severe as Sam’s, and Dean figured that’s where his concern about something else being out there was coming from. There was certainly nothing in the pictures or reports he had seen that struck him wrong. Just to be sure, he’d have Bobby hack the police station and look at the reports for himself.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

“Bobby said it’s probably a bear, Sam.” Dean said for the fifth time as they pulled up outside the town’s small library. His brother was not letting this one go.

“I just want to have a look.” Sam straightened the sunglasses on his face and looked over at Dean. The sun had speared painfully into his head as soon as he’d walked outside the little cabin, evidence that he wasn’t as healed as he wanted to be. “Check the town records; make sure there’s nothing strange outside of a shifter. Alright? Better safe than sorry.”

“Yeah. Ok. I hear ya’.” Dean got out and went around quickly to the passenger side. He wasn’t sold on this little outing, but Sam wouldn’t damn well let it go and had annoyed him into saying yes. “Here. Hold on to me.” He took his brother’s arm when Sam wobbled as he stood and steadied him. “I still think you should be horizontal, dude.”

“I’m fine. Just a little dizzy.” Sam closed the car door and squinted at the little library. He smirked. “At least I won’t get lost in here.”

“Yeah, you can go through all five of their books.” Dean chuckled and kept a hand on Sam’s elbow as they walked to the door. He pulled it open and had to steady him again when Sam swayed as they stepped out of the sunlight into darkness. “Sammy?”

“M’good. Just… yeah. I’m good.” Sam put a hand to his head and the dizziness slowly passed as his eyes adjusted.

“Uh huh.” Dean wasn’t convinced, but there wasn’t a whole lot of trouble Sam could get up to in a little library. He saw tables near the back and aimed Sam for them. “Let’s get you sitting.”

“Hello there!” An older woman greeted the two men and smiled at them. Her smile faltered when she realized the shorter of the two was guiding the taller and he was pasty white. “Is he alright?”

“He’ll be fine. Just needs to sit down and stop arguin’ with me.” Dean grinned at her and helped Sam into a chair. “He’s doing some research on local legends for a college course.” He patted Sam’s shoulder and ignored his brother’s disgusted face. “He could use some help tracking stuff down though. Fell down some stairs the other day. His brains are scrambled.”

“Are not. Jesus, Dean.” Sam groaned and hung his head while he flushed.

The woman laughed. “So you’re his older brother then, aren’t you?” She went to them and knelt to have a look at the younger man. “I’m Laura.”

“Sam. That jerk is Dean.” Sam smiled at her. She had a kindly face with the beginnings of deep laugh lines around her eyes and blonde curls tucked behind her ears.

“Sam. I can help you find whatever you need.” Laura stood again and shook Dean’s hand. “Will you be helping?”

“Oh, hell no.” Dean said easily with a grin. “He can geek on his own. I’m gonna go find some food.” He squeezed Sam’s shoulder again and waited for his brother to take off the sunglasses and look up at him. “You stay here. I’ll come get you in an hour or so. You need me before that, call me. I mean it, Sammy. Don’t go wandering off for a walk right now.”

“I got it. I know.” Sam sighed and set the glasses on the table. “You can go and stop embarrassing me now.”

Dean chuckled and backed away. “Go easy on him. And if he falls down, just slide a pillow under his head or something.”

“Funny, Dean.” Sam watched him go and smiled up at Laura. “Sorry about him.”

“Oh, no need to apologize. I have two boys of my own.” Laura grinned. “I’m used to it. So, local legends?”

Dean stepped back outside and went to the car. He climbed behind the wheel and pulled out the map he had stuffed into his jacket earlier while Sam hadn’t been looking. With his brother sleeping so much, he’d had plenty of time to do some research of his own and to notice that, while the bodies kept cropping up around a lumber mill up in the mountain, none of them were actually in the mill. That told him that it was a good place to start a search for their shifter. Dean turned on the car and hoped Sam wouldn’t kick his ass too much for going to have a look at the place on his own.

“Sorry, Sammy.” Dean muttered as he drove out of town. “But your cracked head ain’t up to a hike in the woods.”

The drive up the mountain was quiet with no other cars passing him on the increasingly battered roads. After twenty minutes, Dean had to turn off the paved road and onto a packed dirt affair that rose up into the forest. He grimaced as rocks bounced around off the undercarriage of the car. “Sorry, baby.” Dean ran a hand over the steering wheel as he drove. The logging road led him up and around a wide curve until at last, the mill came into view. With no logging going on just then, the place was quiet and disused; a perfect lair for something supernatural to strike out at the town below. He parked a few hundred yards behind some trees and got out. Dean went to the trunk and loaded his gun with silver ammunition. He wasn’t planning on running into the shifter, but he wanted to know if he was right and this was its hideout.

Dean jogged through the trees in the direction of the mill. The sun was high overhead but the dense trees blocked most of it out, making it more twilight where he moved. He kept his gun out and ready just in case the shifter was lurking somewhere, but he felt fairly sure the creature would be in town, masquerading as someone before another kill, probably a victim they didn’t know about yet.

The wind blew through the trees, cutting the heat of the day with an early autumn chill and Dean shivered. He slowed as he neared the massive building and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He wasn’t alone anymore. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but Dean’s instincts had rarely failed him. Dean stopped and listened. There was nothing to hear but his own breathing and the wind and then it struck him, there was nothing but the wind. No birds or insects sang into the afternoon. It was unnaturally silent.

“Crap,” Dean breathed. He tightened his grip on his gun, swallowed and spun with the feeling of being watched. He instinctively backed up a step as he was confronted with a massive, black dog twenty paces behind him. “Where the hell did you come from?” It was easily as tall as his shoulder and as Dean watched, it flashed two glowing red eyes at him.

“Oh, no,” he groaned and backed another step. “Sam was right. Damn, I should’a listened to him.” Black dogs were spectral creatures that could take multiple forms, change their size, and normally appeared only at night, but Dean figured it must have been dark enough beneath the tree cover for the thing to come after him. “You’re what’s been munchin’ on the shifter’s leftovers, aren’t you? Son of a bitch.” He didn’t have the right ammo. He needed consecrated iron to kill it, and it made him cold with fear. His only hope was to run for the mill and the daylight outside the forest.

“Ok, ugly. You just… you stay right there and I’m gonna take a little stroll out into the sun.” Dean backed another step and another and the dog paced him, never taking its malevolent gaze from him. “I’m stringy and tough. You don’t wanna eat me, not before my little brother gets a chance to tell me he told me so. Dammit.”

Dean grunted in surprise as something heavy struck the back of his head. He went down hard, unable to stop himself as he fell face-first to the ground. He felt something cold and wet sniffing behind his ear, heard footsteps pace up beside his head and then nothing as the world swirled away into darkness.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_To Be Continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *snicker* Ain't a stinker? :P The next chapter is finished, just waiting for beta. No worries!

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_“Oh, no,” he groaned and backed another step. “Sam was right. Damn, I should’a listened to him.” Black dogs were spectral creatures that could take multiple forms, change their size and normally appeared only at night but Dean figured it must have been dark enough beneath the tree cover for the thing to come after him. “You’re what’s been munchin’ on the shifter’s leftovers, aren’t you? Son of a bitch.” He didn’t have the right ammo. He needed consecrated iron to kill it and it made him cold with fear. His only hope was to run for the mill and the daylight outside the forest._

_“Ok, ugly. You just… you stay right there and I’m gonna take a little stroll out into the sun.” Dean backed another step and another and the dog paced him, never taking its malevolent gaze from him. “I’m stringy and tough. You don’t wanna eat me, not before my little brother gets a chance to tell me he told me so. Dammit.”_

_Dean grunted in surprise as something heavy struck the back of his head. He went down hard, unable to stop himself as he fell face-first to the ground. He felt something cold and wet sniffing behind his ear, heard footsteps pace up beside his head and then nothing as the world swirled away into darkness._

_**Chapter 3** _

Sam checked his watch yet again and looked up toward the doors to the library. He pulled out his phone and dialed his brother… again. He’d been trying to get a hold of Dean for a half an hour, and every minute that went by without a reply, Sam’s concern grew. “Dammit, Dean,” he muttered.

“Sam, honey. You doing alright over here?” Laura came over and smiled at him. He was a very well-spoken young man.

“Yeah. Fine, thanks.” Sam pushed the books back and stood slowly. “I’m, uh… gonna go find my brother. Thanks for the help, Laura.”

“Are you sure you should be walking around?” Laura asked with concern. She’d seen him sway twice while searching the shelves.

“I’ll be fine. He should just be down the street,” Sam lied easily and smiled again for her. He picked up his sunglasses and went for the door, grateful that his head chose to not make the floor move as he walked. He slipped the glasses on before stepping out into the sunlit afternoon. “Dammit, Dean where are you?” Sam took his phone out again and frowned, going back into the library.

“Laura?”

“Back already?” Laura’s concern grew as Sam came right back in.

“Do you have internet access here?” Sam asked and smiled when she nodded. “I need to borrow your computer.”

“Alright. Of course. Right back here.” Laura waved him around the desk. “Can I ask?”

“Well, he’s not answering his phone.” Sam sat in front of the aging computer and pulled up a browser, quickly typing the web address for their phone provider. He smirked up at her. “Lucky for me I know how to ping the GPS on his phone. He’ll smack me for it later.”

“Oh. I didn’t think you could really do that.” Laura watched over his shoulder while a map of the state came up and then zoomed and zoomed again until it was overlooking Cragger’s Mill and a little red bubble appeared. “Oh! He’s up at the mill. That’s odd. It’s closed for a few more weeks until the loggers return.”

“Huh.” Sam memorized the location and the route and closed the browser window. “Uh, thank you. Really.” He smiled for her and stood and swayed sideways.

“Sam!” Laura caught his arm and righted him. “You really should sit back down.”

“I’m fine, honestly.” Sam pulled his arm free once he was steady and headed for the door. “I’ll just go over to the diner and wait for him. Promise. Thanks, Laura.” He left before she could try and stop him again and headed down the street toward the diner they had passed in case she was watching. Inwardly, he was seething at his brother for lying to him and going after the shifter on his own. Sam wasn’t an idiot. It was easy to see why Dean had gone up there. The mill was the best candidate for where the shifter was hiding out in such a small town. Close enough for fresh victims but far enough out of the way to go unnoticed.

“Dammit, Dean.” Sam walked down the street unsteadily and checked out each parked car he passed. There wasn’t much traffic, but there was enough to risk getting busted hotwiring one. He saw a narrow alley between the diner and the building next to it and a sign proclaiming parking in the rear. Sam smiled and turned down the alley. Sure enough, there were several cars behind the buildings and out of sight of prying eyes. Sam picked a jeep, hoping it would easily handle the dirt road up to the mill and tried the door. He snorted a laugh for the owner who’d left it unlocked and climbed up behind the wheel.

“Love it when people make my job easy.” Sam bent under the console and ended up having to lie there for a minute while his head adjusted to being bent over. “Crap.” He took a few steadying breaths and then set about hotwiring the car. Sam sat back up slowly once the engine rumbled to life and had to blink several times to clear his vision.

“Oh, yeah. I should be driving. Great idea, Sam.” Sam backed the jeep out of its parking space and started out to the road, hoping the owner wouldn’t look out the diner windows and see his car driving away without him. He had a few frightening moments as he drove where his vision wavered and it felt like the whole world was shifting around him. He held the jeep straight through sheer force of will and finally the spell lifted.

Sam drove faster than he probably should have, but he had a bad feeling that his brother needed him and quickly. He nearly drove past the entrance to the logging road and had to back up to get onto it. He grimaced as he drove up the incline and the gravel scattered under the jeep. He imagined Dean would have had some choice words for the damage it would do to the Impala. Ten minutes later, he saw the mill looming ahead of him in the sunlight and sped up.

“Shit!” Sam slammed on the brakes as he almost passed the Impala parked off the side of the road against some trees. He looked, but there was no sign of his brother. “Dammit.” He started the jeep moving again up toward the mill, unsure he could manage a hike through the dense forest just then and hating himself a little for the weakness. He drove much closer than Dean had and finally pulled aside just before the turn to the mill.

Sam slid out of the jeep and held on to the door to keep himself standing through a wave of vertigo. “Crap, not now.” He started walking toward the mill cautiously and rounded the tree line. “Dean!” Sam shouted when he saw his brother sitting against the outer wall of the building and slumped over. “Dean?” Sam broke into an uneven run and stumbled to his knees beside him “Are you ok? How bad are you hurt?”

“Sammy?” Dean lifted his head and smiled at his brother. “Hey. Think I’m alright. Just got my bell rung.” Dean sighed. “Should have listened to you. You were right. There’s a black dog up here.” He ran a hand back through his hair ruefully. “Damn thing knocked me around a little, and I managed to crawl out here into the sun. Took off for now.”

“What the hell were you thinking coming up here on your own? You promised me, dammit.” Sam slapped his brother’s shoulder angrily.

“Thought I’d save your cracked head some damage. Help me up.” Dean held out a hand and Sam took it.

Sam got unsteadily to his feet and pulled on his brother’s arm. He groaned when it sent fresh pain through his head and he was swaying by the time Dean was standing. “Crap.”

“Hey, take it easy. Come’re.” Dean wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “You ok?”

“Think so, yeah.” Sam closed his eyes and willed his head to stop pounding. “Just… gimme a minute.”

“Take all the time you want, little brother.”

Sam nodded and then stiffened. There was something wrong… something off. He knew. Sam took a deep breath and spun away from his brother.

“Whoa, Sammy! What gives?” Dean held out his hands as Sam backed away from him.

“Where is he?”

“Who? The dog?” Dean waved a hand at the forest. “Out there sniffin’ around somewhere.”

“No. My brother, you son of a bitch.” Sam snarled and drew a small, silver blade from behind his belt buckle. He worked hard to ignore the gut-wrench of fear from the last time he’d faced a shifter wearing Dean’s face and the fact that he was already weakened this time around. He didn’t have time for it.

“Sam, I know your melon’s cracked, but come on. I’m right here, dude.” Dean held his hands out to Sam and took a step closer. “You’re just confused. Come on. Give me the knife.”

“Right.” Sam lashed out and sliced the silver blade across Dean’s palm. The skin parted, bled and smoked, and Sam grinned dangerously. “Dean would have kicked my ass for driving up here.”

Dean, or the thing wearing his face rather, slumped and stepped back cradling his hand. “Played that one wrong, huh? You caught on fast. I’m impressed, Sammy.”

“Don’t call me that. Where is he?” Sam demanded angrily.

“Around.” Not-Dean shrugged and grinned. “Might even let you see him when you wake up.”

“When I…” Sam cried out as something slammed into the back of his head and neck. He went down in a heap, unconscious before he struck the ground.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Dean woke with a start. “Ah crap,” he groaned as his head pounded. He rolled to his side and put a hand to the back of his head. He felt blood-tacky hair and a sizeable lump. It gave him new sympathy for what Sam must be feeling.

“Awake are you?”

Dean jerked his head up and blinked a few times to clear his vision. “Chief? Chief Cander?” he asked, confused as the police chief moved over and knelt in front of him. Dean groaned again. “Dammit. You’re not the chief.”

“I am now.” The shapeshifter smiled. “Might be fun to be a police chief, but Cragger’s Mill is a little small for my tastes. So. Dean.” He reached out and tapped the young man’s temple. “How’s the head?”

“Bite me.” Dean rolled away and got shakily to his feet.

“You’re lucky I was out there or my pet would have chewed you to pieces.” Cander chuckled. “Spot likes to play with his food.”

“Spot? Really?” Dean stepped back and felt for his gun, heart falling when he realized he’d been disarmed.

“Had to call it something.” Cander shrugged.

“Just… tell me one thing. The real chief. He still alive?” Dean watched the shifter’s face and saw the truth in his face.

“Sorry. No. Couldn’t have him running into himself. So, Dean.” The shifter shook his head. “We’ve got a problem.”

“We?” Dean turned as the door behind him opened and two men walked inside. Both were young and dressed as loggers in flannel and overalls. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me. There’s more than one of you?”

Not-Cander grinned. “Brought the whole family up for a vacation. I wasn’t planning on having to deal with Hunters, though. If one of you turned up, then there’ll probably be more soon. We’ll have to move on, but there’s no reason we can’t have a little fun first. Boys?”

Dean jerked away but couldn’t evade the hard hands that grabbed his arms and dragged him back. “Get off me!” He delivered a hard kick to the leg of one and got a fist to the side of his head for his trouble.

“Now, Dean. Play nice.” Cander walked in front of him and scowled. “I was really enjoying it here. I’m a little ticked off you’ve ruined it.”

Dean grunted in pain when Cander’s fist slammed into his ribs. He tried to twist away but couldn’t avoid the next punch or the next. His captors dropped him to the floor and he curled in on himself in a hail of kicks from booted feet. The air whooshed out of his lungs and he felt a rib crack and then another. He opened his eyes and found he was being pushed to his back and Cander knelt over him delivering solid blows to the side of his head.

“Damn… Hunters. Can’t keep your noses… out of our business!” Cander leaned back finally and stood, studying the blood on his fingers. “Let him go. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Asshole,” Dean spat blood onto the floor. He tried to move and pain like knives stabbed through his chest. “Shit.”

“Make yourself at home, Dean. The boys will keep you company.” Cander wiped his bloody knuckles on his uniform. “I’ll be back shortly. Boys? Leave him be for now.”

“Aw, don’… don’t go on my… my ‘count.” Dean gasped for air and wished he could just stand up long enough to kick someone’s ass. Sam was going to kill him if these guys didn’t do it first. Then the thoughts connected in his rattled brain… oh, God. Sam was out there, alone and already hurt and way off his game, and there were shapeshifters… again.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

“Wakey, wakey, Sammy.”

Sam jerked as a hand slapped his cheek roughly. He coughed and pried his eyes open. “D’n?”

“That’s right, Sammy. Big brother’s right here.”

Sam looked up into Dean’s face with confusion flowing through his mind. Something was wrong. He knew it, but he couldn’t remember what. He rolled onto his side and pain crashed through his skull. Sam leaned forward and threw up what little he’d eaten. He gasped for breath and heard Dean’s laughter. “Wha’… Dean.”

“Not lookin’ so good there, tiger.” Dean knelt back down once the vomiting stopped. “How’s your head?”

The memories slammed back into his mind and Sam gasped. “Not… not Dean. You’re not… where’s Dean?”

“Aw, Sammy. I’m hurt.” Not-Dean reached out and slapped Sam hard. “Guy could start to think you don’t care.” He tilted his head for a moment and closed his eyes. “Got a lot of strange shit floatin’ around his head, your brother.” He opened his eyes and looked back down with a slow grin spreading over his face. “Oh. This isn’t your first rodeo with our kind, huh? In fact, you’ve been here before.” He leaned down into Sam’s frightened face and chuckled. “With me.”

“Not with you.” Sam pushed back away from the shifter and tried to put some distance between them. “Dean killed him.” He looked up blearily and managed a smile. “Gonna kill you too.” He had to lower his pounding head into his hands to fight the need to throw up again.

“Probably shouldn’t have hit you in the head, I suppose.” Not-Dean laughed. “That’s gotta be hell on a healing concussion as bad as yours.” He raised a hand in a mock salute. “I promise not to hit you in the head again. Already bleeding anyway. Gonna have to get my fun somehow, though.” He pulled out a small knife and Sam recognized it as the one he kept in his boot. “I think I have an idea.”

Sam waited for the shifter to come closer and he swung his fist out, catching him in the side of the head. He scrambled to his feet and went back down as the room swam dangerously. “Crap. Not… not now.”

“That’s gonna cost ya’, Sammy.” Shifter-Dean stalked after the younger Winchester. He kicked him over to his back and straddled him with the knife.

Sam’s world was spinning. He was seeing double and triple and he tried to fend off the shifter’s hands and cried out when he felt the bite of a blade into his side. “Ah! Stop!”

“Nope. Just gettin’ started.” Not-Dean grinned and stabbed him again, being careful to stay away from major organs. He didn’t want it to end too soon. He shoved the short blade into the meat of Sam’s left shoulder and let it stand there. “Now, let’s see. Sammy’s greatest hits with shifters. Right.” He bent down and wrapped his hands around Sam’s throat. “Seem familiar?”

Sam gasped as his air was cut off and looked up into his brother’s grinning face. Just when he thought he would pass out, the pressure lifted and Dean laughed. “D… Dean.”

“That’s right, buddy. Right here.” Not-Dean choked off Sam’s air again, released him, and then did it again. He watched the younger Winchester’s face redden, his lips begin to turn blue while his body thrashed underneath him.

“If you kill him, son, I’m going to be pissed.”

“Shit, Dad.” Not-Dean released Sam’s throat and looked up to where his father now stood in the doorway wearing the local police chief. He grinned. “Kid’s got some serious hang-ups with shifters. This is like Christmas.”

“No, no, no, no.” Sam begged and swung weakly out at the thing weighing him down as he coughed. “Dean. Dean! Don’t!”

Not-Dean laughed as Sam’s hands tangled in his jacket and pulled him forward. “Easy, Sammy.” He slapped the man, rocking his head to the side and knocked away Sam’s hands.

“You can play with him. Go ahead and make him bleed but leave him alive.” Shifter-Cander moved over and knelt next to Sam’s head. “Sam? Can you hear me?”

Sam blinked, taking great gulps of air and rolled his head over to look at the newcomer. “Sh… shifter.”

Cander nodded. “That’s right, Sam. You stumbled on my family. Your bad luck, really. I appreciate bad luck, like your brother finding my pet and me at the same time.” He chuckled. “So here’s what I’m gonna do. You can go.”

“Dad, what?” Not-Dean frowned. “Aw, come on!”

“Shut it, kid. Sam, here’s the deal.” Cander caught Sam’s face and held on to his chin to make sure he had the boy’s attention. He smiled. “Your brother is somewhere in this mill. If you can find him, you can have him. I really don’t want to kill two Hunters and have all your buddies tracking us down out of some misplaced sense of vengeance, so, you find him, you can go. Simple as that. Well…” he stopped and glanced at his son and back down to Sam. “I have to let junior here have a little more fun first.”

“But I can’t kill him.” Not-Dean sighed. “Fine.”

“Make him bleed. Make it hurt, but leave him alive and able to move.” Cander chuckled. “He doesn’t have to be able to walk, really.”

Sam groaned and wrapped his arms around himself, hiding his hands in his jacket along with the cell phone he’d slid from shifter Dean’s pocket. “Don’… don’t believe you.”

“I’m a… well, man of my word, more or less.” Cander grinned and went to the door. “Remember, don’t kill him. Just make it hurt and then leave him to find his brother. Don’t want to ruin Dean’s surprise. Come find me when you’re done. You know where.”

“Yes, Dad.” Not-Dean groaned and smiled when the door closed and he was alone with his prey again. He leaned down to look at Sam. “You wanna talk about dads with control issues, Sammy? Mine makes yours look like a cuddly kitten.” He jerked the blade out of Sam’s shoulder and grinned when the man shouted in pain. “I think you need to lose a little more blood, buddy.”

Sam cried out in fresh pain as the blade slammed into his stomach and then again and again. He writhed, trying to swing a fist at the creature as the blade slid under his shirt and dragged up his sternum in a line of fire and agony. “S-stop!”

“Man, you are easy pickin’s with that concussion, you know that?” Not-Dean chuckled as he easily deflected the weak punch Sam tossed at him. “Dean was right to take a couple weeks down time. Of course, that hasn’t exactly turned out the way you wanted it, huh?” He made another slice in Sam’s chest and grinned. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I’m not hittin’ anything vital. Dad’s orders. Otherwise, I’d have your insides on your outside already.” He leaned down and grinned into Sam’s bleary eyes. “I like to play with my food.”

Sam tried to roll away from the monster wearing his brother’s face. His fevered mind kept confusing them, kept telling him that Dean was hurting him and Sam knew that was wrong. Dean would never do this to him. “Dean!” he called out weakly and grunted as a fist slammed into his wounded stomach and hands closed around his throat again.

“Little more oxygen-free time, Sammy?” Not-Dean asked with a laugh and closed his hands around Sam’s throat like a vice. “I like listenin’ to you choke, little brother. That’s it. Come on.” Sam’s body convulsed under him in a bid for air and he tightened his grip as Sam’s head went back, mouth open wide and straining. “Always a weight around my neck, Sammy.”

Sam scrabbled his hands weakly at the shifter’s wrists and had no choice but to watch his big brother choke him again and again, to hear the painful half-truths that Sam had always believed growled at him in that voice he trusted above all others. He kicked his legs weakly as his head swam and the hands on his throat tightened.

“Whoops.” Not-Dean released his grip once Sam’s struggles weakened to nearly nothing.

Sam roared in a breath and coughed hard, trying to regain the air he’d been denied. Pain pounded through his skull, nausea churned his stomach, and the creature wearing his brother’s face laughed through it all.

“Oh, Sammy. You are too much fun.” Shifter-Dean picked his knife up again. “I really, really want to gut you, tiger.” He shoved Sam’s shirt up again and sliced the blade in a shallow cut across his stomach, watching the abdominal muscles ripple in pain and shook his head. “But orders are orders. You’re on your own kid. Come find me.”

Sam rolled to his side, curling his arms over his stomach as the shifter finally stood and moved away. “Gon’… gonna… kill you,” he gasped out between breaths.

“Sure you are. Later, Sammy.”

Sam watched him walk out and bang the door shut behind him. He let his head drop to rest on the wooden floor and panted, trying to catch his breath. Blood coated his arms and hands. His chest and shirts were red with it and his throat felt like it was on fire. His healing concussion didn’t feel so healed anymore and the floor was spinning under him as he lay there. “God.” Sam groaned. “Dean.” He closed his eyes and tried to find the energy to move at all. He had to find his brother. He had to.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_To Be Continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_“Whoops.” Not-Dean released his grip once Sam’s struggles weakened to nearly nothing._

_Sam roared in a breath and coughed hard, trying to regain the air he’d been denied. Pain pounded through his skull, nausea churned his stomach and the creature wearing his brother’s face laughed through it all._

_“Oh, Sammy. You are too much fun.” Shifter-Dean picked his knife up again. “I really, really want to gut you, tiger.” He shoved Sam’s shirt up again and sliced the blade in a shallow cut across his stomach, watching the abdominal muscles ripple in pain and shook his head. “But orders are orders. You’re on your own kid. Come find me.”_

_Sam rolled to his side, curling his arms over his stomach as the shifter finally stood and moved away. “Gon’… gonna… kill you,” he gasped out between breaths._

_“Sure you are. Later, Sammy.”_

_Sam watched him walk out and bang the door shut behind him. He let his head drop to rest on the wooden floor and panted, trying to catch his breath. Blood coated his arms and hands. His chest and shirts were red with it and his throat felt like it was on fire. His healing concussion didn’t feel so healed anymore and the floor was spinning under him as he lay there. “God.” Sam groaned. “Dean.” He closed his eyes and tried to find the energy to move at all. He had to find his brother. He had to._

_**Chapter 4** _

Dean closed his eyes and tried to decide just when he’d lost control of this job so badly; where had he gone so horribly wrong? Oh, right. He hadn’t listened to his little brother like an idiot. He sucked in a breath and opened his eyes again. Raising his head to look down at himself took a monumental effort of will and he groaned softly as he looked down his body and imagined he could see the cracked ribs that were screaming at him.

“Still with us, Winchester?”

Dean coughed softly and rolled his head over. Black boots walked across the scuffed, wooden floor and stopped next to him. Dean let his eyes drag up the body of the thing wearing chief Cander until he could glare at the shifter’s face. “S…screw…screw you.”

“Be nice.”

Dean grunted when one of the man’s booted feet slammed into his ribs and rolled on his side to try and protect himself.

“Get him up.”

“Ah he… hell,” Dean gasped when the other two shifters appeared and dragged him to his feet. The motion nearly cost him his hold on consciousness, and he spent a few dizzying moments with the room spinning before the shifter who’d spoken grabbed his jaw in a tight grip.

“You’re not dead yet.” The shifter grinned with the borrowed face of the police chief.

Dean figured his little brother would be suffering over this one, wherever he was, and he truly hoped Sam was nowhere near this mess. “More… more beating?” Dean smirked and spat a gob of blood at the shifter’s feet. “Think I got… gotta a couple rib… ribs you missed.”

“You’re awful cocky for someone who’s going to be swimming in his own blood when I’m done.” Shifter-Cander smiled and stepped back.

Dean watched him pull a short, slim knife from his sleeve and rolled his eyes. “Call that a kni… knife?”

“Size isn’t everything, Dean.” The shifter smirked and put the point of the blade to the inside of Dean’s elbow. “Oh, hold him still already,” he growled when Dean weakly tried to jerk his arm free. “Bet you’re still kicking yourself for not realizing there was more than one of us at work here, huh?” He pulled the blade down Dean’s left forearm and smiled when the man shouted in pain and blood welled to drip to the floor. “I want you to know I’m being careful to not hit the artery.”

“M’I supposed to… s’posed to thank you? Asshole,” Dean groaned as his legs gave out and only the shifters holding him kept him on his feet. His arm burned with fresh pain, and the feel of his blood flowing and dripping made his skin itch.

“You should.” The shifter moved to Dean’s other arm and flicked the point of the knife into Dean’s wrist. “After all, I did make your little brother a promise.”

Dean went still with shock and pulled his head up to glare death at the creature. “Where… where is he? Where’s my brother, you son’fa bitch!” He shook his head and got his feet back under him as well as he could. “No… no, you’re… screwin’ wi’me. Sam’s safe. He’s… you’re lyin’.”

“Dean. I’m crushed.” The shifter took Dean’s jaw in his hand again and jerked his head up. “When have I lied to you? Or did you think I was off cleaning my nails of your blood while you were lying on the floor? No.” He leaned in and grinned at the look of slowly dawning fear moving across the hunter’s face. “I was spending a little quality time…” He grinned. “…with Sammy.”

Dean stared in renewed horror as the door on the other side of the room opened and a shifter wearing Dean’s own face walked in with a smile. “No, no, no. Don’t… don’t do this.”

“Already done, Dean, and I have to say,” Cander clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Sammy did not react well to my son, there. Has a little shifter PTSD, does he?”

“Shuddup!” Dean shouted and then bent over as far as his captors allowed, coughing. His lungs burned along with his chest and however many broken or cracked ribs they’d given him. Spots began to crawl across his vision, and then the shifter was there again to hold his face up.

“Take a breath. That’s it. Don’t want you passing out yet. Want you to enjoy the show.” The shifter grinned and waited for Dean’s breathing to even slightly. “I told little brother that if he could find you, he could have you. All he has to do is find you.”

“Wha’… wha’s that mean?” Dean wheezed in a few breaths and tried to keep his head up on his own when the shifter let him go.

“If he can find you, and if…” The shifter snorted a laugh. “Well, if he can get you out of this building, you’re free to go. No harm. No foul. We won’t come after you.”

“Why?” Dean sagged in their arms again with his head spinning from blood loss and his heart hammering in his chest with fear for his brother.

“Because I’m just that generous. And it’s fun.” The shifter looked over Dean’s shoulder and grinned. “And there he is now. Turn him around. Let him look, but keep him quiet.”

The shifters holding Dean turned him in a dizzying spin. He grunted in pain when his knees were forcibly kicked out from under him and he went to the floor. They held him kneeling there in a steely grip and a strong hand slapped over his mouth. Dean blinked to clear his vision and realized he was in front of a window that looked down on the lumber mill. Below them was the long central room of the mill. An old conveyor belt ran the length from end to end. Hooks dangled from the ceiling, and staggering into view off to Dean’s right was his little brother. Dean bit the hand over his mouth, trying to get room to call out for Sam, but they held him fast and he received a vicious punch to the side of his head for his trouble.

“Now, now, Dean. You can watch but you can’t help. One-way mirror. He can’t see us.” The shifter moved between Dean and the window, tapping the glass lightly twice and knelt to grin at him. “Sammy’s not doing so well, it seems. Poor kid. You were a little hard on him.” He laughed as Dean’s enraged shout was muffled behind the hands holding him. “I think he was actually doing pretty well at holding his own until you took the knife to him.”

Dean raged and threw what little strength he had left against the things holding him, but it wasn’t enough. He was forced to watch and suffer as Sam stumbled and fell. He landed hard, Dean could tell that even from above, and he shook with anger as Sam managed to climb back to his feet, only to go down again even harder. His little brother curled into himself and Dean wished the light was brighter so he could get a better look at him. A moment later, he was glad it wasn’t because he wasn’t sure he could stand seeing whatever they’d done to him.

“He’s a smart kid, Dean.” The shifter shrugged. “I’m sure he’s probably figured out where you are, and… oh, yes, he has. See? He’s looking toward the stairs.” He chuckled. “Awful long way to those stairs. I’m not sure he can make it, especially if he’s still bleeding. Is he still bleeding?”

“Oh, yeah, he is.”

Dean cringed at the sound of his own voice over his shoulder, so cold and yet so full of glee at Sam’s pain. He couldn’t believe that Sam had to go through that again, had to survive the nightmare of something wearing Dean’s face beating him… hurting him. It had taken days the last time for his brother to not flinch when he woke and saw Dean’s face, and he wondered how long it would take this time. Each flinch had been like a knife through his heart, a condemnation of how he’d failed to protect him and nearly lost him.

In the room below, Sam uncurled and gained his feet again, but it was only a moment before his legs refused to hold him and he dropped. It was killing Dean to be forced to watch. From the time Sam had been a toddler tripping over his own feet right up through various hunting injuries, Dean had always been there to catch him when he fell and to hold him up when he was too weak to do it himself. Hell, he’d carried Sam when he’d had to. To have to watch him suffer and fall on his own now was killing a part of Dean. He wanted to scream at Sam to get his ass out of there, but knew that, even if he could, Sam wouldn’t listen. He knew without any doubt in his mind that, as long as Sam could draw breath, he would not abandon Dean any more than Dean would ever leave him behind. But watching him struggling like this, knowing his little brother could be bleeding out as he watched, made Dean want to lash out and fight back even if it killed him. As if the shifter sensed it, he lunged in suddenly and drove the small knife into Dean’s shoulder.

“Shh. Shh. That’s it. There we go.” The shifter gave the blade a little twist before pulling it back and watching the fresh blood stain Dean’s shirt. “I’m not an idiot. I’ve heard more than one story about how you Winchesters somehow manage to wreak havoc even when you’re bleeding all over the place.” He chuckled softly and patted the side of Dean’s face almost fondly. “Just making sure that you don’t have enough strength left to manage that here. Oh. Oh, dear. I think Sammy’s hitting the end of his rope down there.”

Dean whimpered around the hand muffling him. He knew it and he didn’t care as Sam began a slow, agonizing crawl over the floor of the lumber mill toward the stairs.

“He tracked your cell phone, by the way,” the shifter said conversationally as they watched Sam’s painful progress. “That’s how he knew where to come. When you didn’t answer your phone, he put those college smarts to use and found you.” He chuckled and winked at Dean. “He had a few choice words to say to you for taking off on your own once he found you… well, you know what I mean. If it’s any consolation, it only took him a few minutes to realize that you weren’t… exactly… you. I’m impressed. Honestly, most people never figure it out until they’re bleeding.”

Dean cheered inwardly for his perceptive little brother and just wished he himself hadn’t been so damn fool stupid in the first place. He’d been so focused on not losing Sam so close on the heels of their dad that he’d come to search the mill on his own, figuring he could handle one shifter. Dean closed his eyes when Sam sagged to the floor again and listened to the laughter of the shifters around him.

“You should have listened to Sam when he told you he thought something else was going on,” the shifter said and casually plunged the knife into the meat of Dean’s thigh, enjoying the choked sounds the man made in response. “He was right.” He stood and tossed the knife away across the floor, no longer needing it. “Tie his arms and make sure you duct tape his mouth.”

Dean jerked as his arms were pulled behind him. He would have cried out in pain if not for the hand over his mouth and slammed his eyes closed when he felt his wrists being bound. He looked up at the chief’s face when he tapped the top of Dean’s head.

“We’re going to leave now. It’s up to Sam whether you live or die.” The shifter grinned. “I think they’ll be finding both your bodies up here in a few days when the work crews come back, but you never know.” He looked down into the mill at Sam Winchester, still lying on the floor and smiled. “Have a nice death, Winchester.”

Dean grunted as he was pushed over to his back hard. All the air left his lungs when one of the shifters holding him stomped his foot into Dean’s stomach. It kept him from crying out to his brother when the hand moved away from his mouth, and a moment later, heavy tape was slapped in its place. He rolled his head and watched the shifters leave and stared death at the creature wearing his likeness when it stopped to give Dean a wink before closing the door. He turned his head toward the window instead and wished he could see down to the lumber mill floor again.

He tried to roll off his bound hands and the pain from his shoulder and cracked ribs stole what little breath he had. Dean was left panting through his nose for too little air. He fought the blackness rolling down on him, but it was too much and his eyes fell closed.

Sound came back to Dean first and he frowned, hearing something he couldn’t identify, like something heavy being dragged over wood. He tried to open his mouth and jerked when he couldn’t, and it all came rushing back -- the shifters, being bound and gagged, and Sam. Dean snapped his eyes open and tried to move. He moaned in pain behind the tape and then heard the sounds again. He rolled his head toward the door and watched as it swung open slowly. He expected the shifters, returning to finish what they’d started, and his eyes blew wide in surprise when it was Sam who came through the door. Dean watched his brother take a step into the room and then collapse to the floor, and his muffled shouts couldn’t drown out the sound of Sam wheezing for breath. He waited for Sam to lift his head and caught his brother’s blue-green eyes desperately.

“Hang… hang on, Dean.” Sam’s voice was a hoarse whisper through a raw throat and he hung his head as he got to his hands and knees.

Dean could see pain and exhaustion in every line of Sam’s body as his little brother crawled the eight feet across the floor to reach him. As badly as he wanted to do something, anything, to help, he couldn’t. Even lying there, he was fighting the need to pass out again. He could feel it like a dark tide waiting to wash down over him. What little he could make out of his brother didn’t give him any peace. All he could see was blood, blood everywhere, staining Sam’s shirt and jeans and even the shaggy hair on the back of his head was matted with it. Dean’s eyes narrowed angrily when Sam reached him and brought his head up again. His throat was ringed with bruises as though he’d been strangled over and over and Dean knew; the shifter wearing him had seen what the last shifter Sam had met had tried to do to him and used it. He watched Sam’s shaking hand reach up and take hold of the corner of the duct tape. Dean gave him a nod and braced himself as Sam ripped it from his face.

“Sammy!” Dean gasped and sucked in grateful gasps of air. “Hands… get my… untie me.” He needed to get his hands on his brother and see how bad it was. The concussion alone frightened him; that Sam had somehow driven all the way up the mountain only to be attacked.

Sam nodded wearily and then curled forward to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder for a moment. “Jus’… need… need a minute.”

“Ok, buddy,” Dean nodded and swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat. “Sam, how bad?”

Sam shook his head and sat back up slowly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Bull…” Dean coughed and groaned at the fresh waves of pain. “…bullshit.”

“Take… take a breath,” Sam warned his brother and slid his hands under Dean’s shoulder and hip. The amount of blood on his big brother and pooling beneath him was terrifying him along with how little Dean had moved since he came in the room. He suspected that Dean was hurt every bit as badly as he was, if not worse. That he was so incapacitated himself that he couldn’t help his brother the way he wanted to, the way Dean always looked after him, tore into his gut as painfully as the shifter’s knife had. He took a deep breath of his own, held it and used what little strength he had to push and roll Dean onto his side. “Sorry. Sorry,” he said when Dean cried out and then curled in on himself.

Dean managed to shake his head and somehow not pass out through the waves of agony. He held as still as he could while Sam untied his wrists, grimacing as he felt blood and skin tearing with whatever they had used to bind him. “Sam.”

“Called… called Bobby.” Sam scowled at the phone cord wrapped far too tightly around his brother’s bloody wrists and finally slipped it off. He tossed it away angrily and took Dean’s shoulder, pulling him gently onto his back again. He smirked at his brother weakly. “Asshole who was… was wearin’ your… your face. Pickpocketed his phone when he was on me. Bobby’s comin’.” Sam coughed and slammed his eyes closed as it droves knives of pain behind his eyes. “Was already on his… on his way.”

Dean brought his right arm up and took hold of Sam’s before he could pull away. “Siddown,” he slurred and tugged, unsurprised when Sam toppled sideways into him. He hissed with pain when his brother’s elbow bumped his shoulder and didn’t give a damn. “Said… asshole said he carved you up.”

Sam nodded and slumped down, finally too exhausted from the pain and the blood loss to stay upright anymore. “Wasn’ tryin’ to kill me… more or less.”

Dean pulled on Sam’s arm a little more until his brother gave in and ended up lying on the floor with his head on Dean’s chest. He put his hand carefully on the back of Sam’s head and turned it a little. “You concussed again?” Sam gave him a slow nod. When he tried to move again, mumbling something about finding bandages, Dean held him down with his hand on his head. “Knock… knock it off. Not goin’ anywhere til’ Bobby gets here.”

“Pushy,” Sam grumbled but he stopped trying to move and instead focused on listening to his brother’s heart beat under his ear. It had taken him a half an hour to crawl the length of the mill and get up the stairs, and the whole time, the one thought that had screamed through his mind was that he would be too late; that he’d find Dean lying dead somewhere. When he’d first opened the door into the room and seen his brother motionless on the floor covered in far too much blood, it had stolen his breath and stopped his heart for a beat until Dean had moved. His world had snapped back into motion then, and Sam was content now to wait for Bobby. He wasn’t leaving Dean alone again anytime soon.

“We’re ok, Sammy,” Dean whispered and was comforted by the heavy weight of Sam’s head on his chest. He wished he could get up and carry them both out of there, but for now he’d be content to wait. They were alive and they were together. “Sorry. S’my fault.”

“Yep,” Sam said quickly and smiled when Dean’s fingers tightened in his hair for a moment. “Kick your ass… later.”

Dean snorted softly and let his eyes close. “Deal.”

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

“Dean. Son, come on.”

Dean groaned. He wanted to ignore the voice, but he knew he needed to open his eyes. He blinked slowly and found Bobby’s scruffy face staring down at him. He frowned. “Bobby?”

“Balls, don’t scare me like that.” Bobby leaned back and watched Dean wake himself up. He breathed deeply, trying to calm the panicked heartbreak he had felt upon finally making his way into the room and seeing the two boys he thought of almost as surrogate sons lying together unmoving and covered in what seemed like an ocean of blood. He had been certain for several long moments that he had lost them both. He rested a hand on Sam’s back where he lay, slumped over his big brother’s chest and suffered for his boys. They’d clearly been through hell. “Son, I can’t carry you two outta here. I’m gonna call the locals. Feed ‘em a story ‘bout you two gettin’ caught up by the killer.”

“No!” Dean lurched his head up from the floor and grabbed Bobby’s arm. “You can’t! One of em’s wearin’ the police chief, Bobby.”

“Son of a… well, that’s just spectacular.” Bobby sighed and ran a hand through his hair under his cap. “How in hell am I gonna get you boys outta here? You need a hospital. Both of ya’.”

“Sammy?” Dean brought his hand back to his brother’s head where it rested heavy on his chest, ignoring the pain that it caused his badly damaged ribs. He carded his fingers through hair sticky with blood and grimaced in fear. “Sam.” He didn’t move. “Bobby, they hit him in the head.”

“I know.” Bobby had found the freshly bleeding wound on the back of the younger Winchester’s head and knew how dangerous that could be on top of an already severe concussion. He’d already tried to wake the boy up with no luck.

“I can… I can walk,” Dean said stubbornly. “Pull him over, wouldja?”

Bobby eyed Dean as the boy shifted and snorted. “How many broken ribs you got?”

Dean rolled his eyes wearily. “Dunno. Couple maybe… maybe just cracked.”

“Plan B, Dean.” Bobby pulled out his cell phone, dialed and put it to his ear. “Jesse. Need a favor. Yeah, I got two wounded hunters at Cragger’s Lumber Mill. They ain’t walkin’ outta here. We need a lift and the local PD’s been compromised.” Bobby nodded, listening and smiled. “Right, we’ll be waitin’.”

“Who was that?” Dean asked and kept a hand on Sam’s neck to feel his pulse beating. He could hear his little brother’s labored, wheezing breaths and wondered how much damage the shifter had done to his throat.

“Buddy o’ mine with a helicopter.” Bobby chuckled at the look on Dean’s face. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. It’ll be a short hop from here to the nearest hospital for you two. You’ll live.”

“Awesome.” Dean groaned and swallowed around the little lump of fear the thought of flying brought him in spite of everything he had just been through. “How long?”

“Twenty minutes. Got lucky.” Bobby patted Sam’s back and smiled. “He was nearby doin’ recon on a forest fire.” He sat back to wait and kept a hand on both his boys. “So, Sam said there were two shifters and a creature.”

“Four shifters,” Dean said and shook his head. “And one of ‘em’s got a pet black dog.”

“Balls! No wonder they got the drop on ya’. ‘Course, that wouldn’t’a happened if you’d listened to the kid in the first place.” Bobby fixed Dean with a stern look. “How many times have I drilled it into your thick skull to never go in without backup? That’s how Hunters get dead, ya idjit!”

“Bobby,” Dean said tiredly and let his head rest back on the floor. “Trust me. You can’t kick me any harder than I’m kickin’ myself here.” He blew out a breath and tightened his fingers in Sam’s hair. “Almost got him killed.”

“I know, son. He’ll be alright.” Bobby wouldn’t admit how much he didn’t like the sound of Sam’s breathing just then or how closely he was paying attention to every wheezed breath, like he was expecting them to suddenly stop. “You both will, and when you’re back on your feet, we’re gonna go after these bastards together. You hear me?”

Dean nodded once, firmly. “Yeah. I ain’t goin’ after these guys alone again. And next time I’m packin’ a gun with some damn consecrated iron. That black dog almost ate me.” Dean looked down at his brother sadly. “Bobby, one of ‘em… the one that messed up Sam… he was wearin’ my face.”

“Ah, hell.” Bobby sighed and squeezed his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “He’ll get through it. He did the last time.”

“Shouldn’t have to,” Dean said miserably while guilt flowed through him and closed his eyes. “This is all my fault.”

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_To Be Continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: It feels weird writing and posting with Janice around to beta my chapters but SHE’S off in Vancouver rubbing shoulders with our boys so here we are. :P
> 
> This chapter is unbeta’d. All mistakes are my own. :D
> 
> **Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!  
> ~Reviews are Love~

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_“Bobby,” Dean said tiredly and let his head rest back on the floor. “Trust me. You can’t kick me any harder than I’m kickin’ myself here.” He blew out a breath and tightened his fingers in Sam’s hair. “Almost got him killed.”_

_“I know, son. He’ll be alright.” Bobby wouldn’t admit how much he didn’t like the sound of Sam’s breathing just then or how closely he was paying attention to every wheezed breath; like he was expecting them to suddenly stop. “You both will and when you’re back on your feet, we’re gonna go after these bastards together. You hear me?”_

_Dean nodded once, firmly. “Yeah. I ain’t goin’ after these guys alone again. And next time I’m packin’ a gun with some damn consecrated iron. That black dog almost ate me.” Dean looked down at his brother sadly. “Bobby, one of ‘em… the one that messed up Sam… he was wearin’ my face.”_

_“Ah, hell.” Bobby sighed and squeezed his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “He’ll get through it. He did the last time.”_

_“Shouldn’t have to,” Dean said miserably while guilt flowed through him and closed his eyes. “This is all my fault.”_

_**Chapter 5** _

Sam opened his eyes, closed them and then opened them again. He looked around and pushed back the rising confusion and panic. It took several moments but then he remembered. He was in a cabin… another cabin. Bobby had cleaned their things out of the one they’d been staying in. A shifter had been in Dean’s mind and that meant they weren’t safe there anymore. Sam remembered the shifters, two of them and couldn’t stop the internal flinch with the memory of being tortured again by something wearing his brother’s face.

“Dean?” Sam turned his head carefully and saw the room was empty. He sighed and put a hand up to his aching head. He thought they had been there for several days already and seemed to think that Dean had been making himself scarce. Sam snorted. He’d put an end to that. He slid one leg off the bed to the floor, rolled slowly to his side and very carefully managed to sit up on his own. It was getting easier with each passing day. He just wished the confusion would stop plaguing him.

“Sam? Son, what are you doin’ up?” Bobby watched in consternation as Sam got to his feet, swayed and sat right back down. “How many times a day I gotta threaten your life ‘til you listen to me?”

Sam chuckled. “Until I remember it, I guess. Where’s Dean?”

“He ain’t listenin’ to me either. Stubborn ass is outside on the porch cleanin’ the guns. Come on.” Bobby went over and took Sam’s arm, helping him back to his feet. “You’re up, you may as well go out there with him and keep each other honest. Those ribs of his are a mess. You remember that?”

Sam thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. Three cracked ribs, two bruised. Right?”

“Yep and a broken nose they managed to pop back into place.” Bobby chuckled. Dean had filled the emergency room with his colorful vocabulary when they did that. “I want you sittin’ down and I don’t want either one of ya’ movin’ without talkin’ to me first. Last thing I need is one of you poppin’ stitches. Got too many of ‘em between ya’. Here ya’ go. Dean! Put the damn rifle down and talk to your brother.”

“Aw, Bobby.” Dean groaned and watched the door open and Bobby guide his little brother out and to the other wooden chair on the porch. “What’d you wake him up for?”

“Didn’t. Woke himself up and had delusions a’ walkin’ around. Sit!” Bobby pointed a finger imperiously at both men. “I’ll get some food started.”

Dean waited until Bobby went back inside and laughed softly. “He’s like bearded Hitler, dude. You gotta watch out for him.”

Sam leaned back in the chair and rested his sore head on the back. The headaches were getting better but there was one he wanted to sort out. He glanced over and sure enough, Dean was busying himself with the guns and avoiding his gaze. “Dean. I’m not gonna freak out if you look at me. It was a shifter, not you. I know that.”

Dean’s hands stilled and he stared at the gun he was cleaning. It’d be a long time before he forgot the flight from the mill to the hospital. The helicopter only had two seats and he’d held his brother’s bloody body against him the whole way. As they’d landed, Sam had woken and somehow found the energy to swing a fist at his face while shouting his name. Dean’s heart had broken. “Sam, it _was_ me. It was my fault, ok? You told me not to go after that thing on my own and I did it anyway.”

Sam blew out a breath and leaned forward. “Look. I’m not saying it wasn’t stupid because, well, it was stupid.” He smirked but there was no answering smile on his brother’s face. “Dean, come on. You couldn’t possibly have known there were four shifters. I didn’t know. No one did. You could have handled just one of them. Hell, you probably could have handled two.”

“Sure would have helped if I’d know there was something like a black dog up there. Oh, wait!” Dean threw his good arm in the air and met his brother’s eyes finally. “You told me there was and I didn’t listen. Forget it, Sammy. This one’s on me.”

“Ok, fine.” Sam worked at restraining his frustration. There was little you could do when Dean decided to hate himself except wait it out. “Fine, you screwed up. Happy? Now, can you please stop avoiding me?”

“I’m not avoiding you.” Dean watched Sam’s eyes and then rolled his own. He thumped back into his chair and grimaced as it sent pain singing through his cracked ribs. “Ok, ok. I’ll give you that one. I’m sorry, dude. I just… the bastard wore my face and you can’t tell me that’s not twistin’ you up again. I’m the one’s been wakin’ you up from the damn nightmares.”

Sam flinched but nodded. “Yeah, you’re right but it’s not you. I know it’s not you. I just… get a little confused when I wake up. Concussed remember?”

Dean snorted. “Like I’m gonna forget? You didn’t hear that doctor lay into me for getting you into a dangerous situation with an already severe concussion. Seriously, Sammy. I thought the guy was gonna start cuttin’ things off just to make me pay attention.”

Sam laughed and felt the moment Dean let some of the stress slide away finally. “You have that effect on doctors.” He grinned. “Actually you have that effect on most people.”

“Shuddup.” Dean straightened, trying to take some of the pressure off his aching chest.

“You take anything for that today?” Sam looked at his watch and his brows went up. “It’s… I slept for ten hours?”

Dean gave a short, breathless laugh. “Yeah, dude. We dosed your juice.”

“God, you’re such an ass. Bobby!” Sam shouted and then clapped a hand to the side of his head. “Ok, ow. No yelling.”

Bobby emerged onto the porch to Sam hunched over and Dean snickering. “What’d you do now?”

Dean raised a hand, still chuckling. “Nothin’. He yelled. Dumbass.”

“Dean needs painkillers,” Sam said, careful to keep his voice low. “An’ maybe I do too.”

Bobby rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Couple’a morons, the both of ya. Come on then. Dinner’s ready.” He bent to take one of Sam’s arms and wasn’t surprised when Dean stood and took his brother’s other arm. Obviously, Sam had gotten through Dean’s thick skull at least enough that he was in arm’s reach of Sam again. “Easy does it, son,” Bobby said softly as Sam stood unsteadily.

“It’s been three days. I’m ok.” Sam said and looked up when both men failed to move. “What?”

“Sammy. Dude. It’s been six.” Dean shook his head and started him moving. “Concussion on top of concussion, Sam. Your marbles are a little scrambled still.”

“Dammit.” Sam groaned and let them lead him inside. “This gets better eventually, right?”

“It will.” Bobby reassured him. They led Sam into the kitchen and Bobby eased him down into a chair. “Dean, grab those pain meds from the living room. Sam, I wanna check your bandages.”

“Feel like a damn invalid,” Sam said in a long-suffering tone as he pulled his shirt up.

“Dude. Newsflash. You _are_ an invalid.” Dean grinned at the disgusted look on Sam’s face as he came back to the table. The cabin Bobby had them holed up in was a long sight better than the first. It had been kept clean and stocked, had a comfortable couch Dean was getting used to while watching Mexican soap operas. It belonged to another Hunter friend of Bobby’s, someone named Rufus that Bobby assured them they never wanted to meet if they could help it. Bobby called him ornery and a few other choice names which just made Dean want to find the guy. “Here.” Dean held out the pill bottle. His left arm was getting better but it was still weaker than he liked with stitches crawling up his arm from wrist to biceps.

Sam took the bottle and twisted it open, shaking out four pills. He handed two to his brother and then coughed, trying to clear his throat. “Water?” he croaked.

“Yeah.” Dean moved as quickly as he was able and poured a glass, bringing it back with his eyes fixed on the impressive bruises ringing Sam’s throat. Six days later they were graduating from black and blue to green and yellow and his little brother was still having some trouble with swelling; though thankfully not enough to worry him anymore. Not like the first two days when Sam’s throat would just decide to close up and give Dean a heart attack. “Here. Drink. Small sips.”

Sam nodded and took the glass. He sipped carefully at it between coughs until finally the annoying tickle passed and he could take a deep breath.

“You alright, son?” Bobby asked in a voice heavy with concern as he watched the boy until Sam nodded. He smiled and winked at him. “Still got some ice cream in the freezer.”

Sam was surprised into a hoarse laugh. Bobby had plied him with ice cream every chance he got. “Yeah, Bobby. Ok. Thanks.” He was tired of his sore throat and neck and the low, burning ache of his chest and stomach where the shifter had cut him up.

Bobby tugged Sam’s shirt back down and patted it in place. “Bandages look good. Wounds are healin’ nicely. Dean, sit down already and eat your sandwich.”

Dean smirked and lowered himself carefully into a chair. “So, I’ve been lookin’ the last couple days and I can’t find any sign of the shifters. No clue where they went yet.”

“Good,” Bobby said firmly and came back to the table with a tub of ice cream and a spoon. He slid them in front of Sam and sat down, grabbing Sam’s sandwich for himself and took a bite. “Ain’t a one of ya’ in any shape to take on a pack of shifters and a damn black dog even if you could find ‘em.” He shrugged at Dean’s dark, irritated look. “They’ll turn up again. Either we’ll get ‘em or someone else will.”

“They’re dangerous,” Sam croaked and rolled his eyes at his own voice. He took a bite of the ice cream and let it melt down his throat, soothing the abused muscles. “They have to be stopped.”

“They will be. Just not by you two. Not now.” Bobby gave them both stern looks. “You’re both walkin’ wounded. Stiff wind’d blow ya’ over. You ain’t takin’ on anything harder than makin’ a bed for the next week.” He watched them both until their eyes fell and gave a satisfied smile. “Now, think I can trust you two idjits to stay outta trouble long enough for me to go grab the Impala off that damn logging road?”

“Yes!” Dean said quickly. “Get my baby the hell outta there.”

Bobby chuckled and rose. “That’s what I thought. Stew’s cookin’ on the stove. Beer in the fridge that Sam can’t have.” He gave a cheerful smile to Sam’s scowl. “And I’ll be back by mornin’. Call me if anything comes up and I’ll haul ass back here ‘stead of stoppin’ for the night. It’s only three hours away.”

“We’ll be fine,” Sam assured him.

Bobby went to the door and looked back at his boys and suddenly it was very hard to walk away from the two of them; wounded as they were. It was like a little voice in the back of his head telling him it wasn’t safe, that he should stay and protect them. He shook his head and opened the door. “Try not to kill each other.”

“How about maiming?” Dean asked before Bobby could close the door. “Is that on the menu?”

“Jerk.” Sam kicked his brother’s leg under the table and earned one in return that made him yelp.

“Idjits,” Bobby said fondly and pulled the door closed behind him.

“You’re an idjit.” Dean grinned at his brother.

“We both are, dumbass. Hey! Get your own ice cream!” Sam pulled the tub away before Dean could swipe a finger through it and chuckled.

“Spoilsport.” Dean grinned and sat back. He groaned and sat forward again, hunching over his cracked ribs.

“You ok?” Sam asked, watching the pain move across his brother’s face.

Dean snorted. “Better than you. Eat your ice cream. You sound like a bull frog.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t speak frog. What was that?” Dean chuckled and blocked the foot Sam sent at his leg again. “Seriously, how’s your head?”

Sam shrugged the shoulder that didn’t ache from being stabbed. “Not bad at the moment and hey, I remember my name and my annoying big brother.”

“It’s a banner day.” Dean chuckled and wrapped his arms around his chest to brace his ribs. “You’re cleanin’ the car for a few weeks.”

“Fantastic.” Sam dug into his ice cream again and sighed. It was good to have Dean treating him normally again. It made him unnerved when his big brother avoided him and didn’t talk to him; especially after what they had been through. He needed Dean close for a while.

They ate companionably until Sam pushed the empty ice cream bucket aside and rubbed a hand over his bandaged stomach. “M’gonna get fat before you do. That’s not right.”

Dean laughed. “Pie don’t make you fat, Sammy. Ice cream though… yeah, come on, chubby.”

“Shut up.” Sam levered himself up from the table before Dean could reach him and smiled when he swayed only slightly and the floor stayed where it was supposed to for a change. “Think my head’s getting better.” He yawned and rolled his eyes. “How can I be tired again?”

“Go to bed, dude. We got nothin’ to do for a while.” Dean snorted. “And that’s gonna start drivin’ us nuts in a few days. Bobby may kill us.”

Sam walked somewhat steadily down the short hall to the bedroom with a hand on the wall and Dean on his heels. “I’m not gonna fall over.”

“Uh huh.” Dean smirked. “I’ll believe that soon as you sit down.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Sam sat on the side of the bed and rolled carefully to his side with a hand bracing his wounded chest. The stitches running up the length of his sternum were beginning to drive him mad itching. “These come out tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, ya’ big girl.” Dean tugged the blanket up over his brother’s legs and patted his hip. “Get some sleep, princess.”

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Sam opened his eyes into a dark room. He took a moment to orient himself and was pleased when there was no confusion. He remembered where he was and what had happened. He frowned, trying to remember what had woken him and couldn’t except for a general sense of unease. He rolled his head over and saw Dean’s shape in the moonlight from the window; buried under a blanket and sound asleep in the other bed. One bare arm stretched out, hanging off the bed in the air toward Sam and he smirked; as though even in sleep his big brother needed to be sure he was alright.

He sighed and flicked the blanket back. Sam slid his legs out of the bed to the cold floor and wished he’d put socks on as his toes chilled on the hard wood. He swayed once and steadied himself on the end of the bed before going out silently. No need to wake his brother’s over-protective streak for a trip to the bathroom.

Dean cracked his eyes as Sam walked slowly out of the room and resisted the urge to snort. Sam wasn’t as sneaky as he thought with a cracked head. He listened to him move down the hall and heard the bathroom door snick closed. He closed his eyes again and let himself drift; listening in case Sam needed help or in case the idiot ran into a wall in the dark. He was lightly dozing when he heard a soft thump and a curse. Dean sighed and flung the blanket back. He sat up and had one foot on the floor when his brother came back into the room.

“Hey, you ok?” Dean asked. “Heard you bang into the wall.”

Sam smiled and sat on his bed. “I’m fine. I thought I heard something outside though.”

“Yeah?” Dean’s senses were instantly on alert. He pulled his pistol from under his pillow and stood. “Stay here.” He moved out into the hall, leading with the gun and listened for anything. Dean walked slowly down the short, darkened hall. He turned the corner and the light flared on, momentarily blinding him. Dean blinked to clear his vision and then froze. Sam stood before him with the shifter wearing Dean’s face at his back; a knife pricking his throat. A hand covered his mouth and Sam’s panicked eyes met his. Dean aimed the gun at the shifter’s head and jerked at the feel of cold metal hitting the back of his neck.

“Drop it, Dean.”

Sam’s voice coming from behind him was all wrong and Dean groaned. “Son of a bitch.”

“Move.” Not-Sam gave Dean a shove and then backed away several paces. He’d picked up enough information from the real Sam’s head so far to understand that Dean was a serious threat even unarmed.

“Sammy? You good?” Dean watched his brother, his real brother, give a hard jerk to try and get away from the thing holding him and suffered for him.

Sam growled and wrenched his head to the side, pulling the shifter’s hand from his mouth. “I’m alright,” he said quickly and met his brother’s eyes.

“Oh, Sammy’s great. For now.” Shifter Dean grabbed a handful of Sam’s hair and yanked his head back with a grin. “I’m hoping I get to fix that real soon.”

Dean snarled and would have rushed the bastard if not for the loud cock of the gun behind him. “If you hurt him…”

“Sorry, Dean.”

Dean looked behind his brother as the shifter wearing Chief Cander and the other shifter who’d held Dean down strode into the cabin. “What the hell are you doing here? How’d you even find us?”

“We had a deal, Dean. I thought we had trust.” Cander sighed and shook his head. “And then another Hunter strolls back up to that mill and kills my dog.” His face darkened as he looked at the elder Winchester. “There are consequences for disappointing me.”

“You pissed dad off. Good job, genius.” Not-Sam said from behind him. “Mind you, the one you really oughta be afraid of is mom.”

“Mom?” Dean frowned and looked around. His eyes went wide in surprise when an older woman entered the cabin behind Cander. It was Laura from the little library and she looked sadly at Dean as she moved up alongside his brother.

Laura took Sam’s chin in her hand and turned his head until he could see her. “Hello, Sam.”

Sam’s mouth opened in shock. “No.”

“Afraid so.” Laura smiled at him and rubbed a thumb along his jaw. “Remember I told you I had two boys.” She waved an arm into the room. “They’ve decided they like being you and your brother.”

Sam closed his eyes. “That’s how they knew I was coming that day. You told them.”

Laura nodded and patted his shoulder. “So nice of you to track the GPS in Dean’s phone right there in front of me. They might not have had any warning otherwise. It could have been a disaster.”

Cander rubbed a hand on Laura’s back while Sam’s face fell guiltily and strode across to Dean. “My boy there’s still wearing you, Dean. It took a while but he was finally able to hear where you were.” He tapped the side of his head while Dean glared at him. “Eventually, we get it all so long as the host is alive.”

“That’s just peachy.” Dean turned his head to see where the shifter was behind him. The thing wearing his brother’s face was too far back for him to reach before he’d be shot unless he had a distraction. “What the hell do you want?” he asked, looking back to Cander. “You decide to kill us finally?”

“I haven’t made up my mind.” Cander shrugged and turned to look back at Sam. “Perhaps. I think we’ll play a little first. My son didn’t get to have all the fun he wanted with your brother last time. He feels cheated, don’t you son?”

“Yeah I do, dad.” Not-Dean pricked the blade of his knife into Sam’s throat until blood began to trickle.

Sam flinched from his brother’s voice in his ear and watched his real brother instead. He could see the tension vibrating off of Dean’s body. He wanted to fight but there were no safe moves unless Sam could give him an opening. He saw the warning in Dean’s eyes; his big brother seeing what he was thinking and made his decision. Sam took a breath and twisted in the shifter’s grip.

“Sam, no!” Dean shouted but it was too late. He could only watch as Sam turned in his captor’s grip, the knife sliding along his neck and grappled with the thing.

Sam drove his knee up into the shifter’s solar plexus and wrapped a hand around the wrist holding the knife. It was a futile effort, he knew. He could feel his head pounding and spinning from the exertion as he fought; the healing wounds on his chest pulling painfully and the puncture in his left shoulder dragging his arm down. He was in no condition for hand-to-hand combat and had to trust that his brother could turn the tide before they both ended up dead.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_To Be Continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: This one was slightly delayed by the book signing we did today in downtown Roanoke with Geek Mob. Lol Went great! Met some awesome people and signed some books! Between the cosplayers and being sandwiched between the Mysticon table and the Roanoke Whovians table, it was pretty much nerdvana for me. :P Oh and the stormtroopers. Dude. The stormtroopers. They were fantastic!
> 
> This chapter is unbeta’d. All mistakes are my own. :D
> 
> **Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!  
> ~Reviews are Love~

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_“That’s just peachy.” Dean turned his head to see where the shifter was behind him. The thing wearing his brother’s face was too far back for him to reach before he’d be shot unless he had a distraction. “What the hell do you want?” he asked, looking back to Cander. “You decide to kill us finally?”_

_“I haven’t made up my mind.” Cander shrugged and turned to look back at Sam. “Perhaps. I think we’ll play a little first. My son didn’t get to have all the fun he wanted with your brother last time. He feels cheated, don’t you son?”_

_“Yeah I do, dad.” Not-Dean pricked the blade of his knife into Sam’s throat until blood began to trickle._

_Sam flinched from his brother’s voice in his ear and watched his real brother instead. He could see the tension vibrating off of Dean’s body. He wanted to fight but there were no safe moves unless Sam could give him an opening. He saw the warning in Dean’s eyes; his big brother seeing what he was thinking and made his decision. Sam took a breath and twisted in the shifter’s grip._

_“Sam, no!” Dean shouted but it was too late. He could only watch as Sam turned in his captor’s grip, the knife sliding along his neck and grappled with the thing._

_Sam drove his knee up into the shifter’s solar plexus and wrapped a hand around the wrist holding the knife. It was a futile effort, he knew. He could feel his head pounding and spinning from the exertion as he fought; the healing wounds on his chest pulling painfully and the puncture in his left shoulder dragging his arm down. He was in no condition for hand-to-hand combat and had to trust that his brother could turn the tide before they both ended up dead._

_**Chapter 6** _

Dean didn’t waste the distraction his brother was giving him. He turned and lunged toward the shifter wearing Sam’s face behind him. He got his hand on the gun and pulled not-Sam’s hand down as it went off. Dean felt the bullet burn a path across his left hip and heard someone grunt behind him. He hoped the bullet had hit one of the bastards somewhere useful. “Come on!” Dean shouted and wrenched the gun loose from the shifter’s hand. Dean kicked out and slammed his foot into one of his knees and the creature went to the floor with a cry. Dean gave his own shout of pain as not-Sam’s fingers dug into his stitched up left arm. He felt fresh blood well up and stitches tear and snarled angrily through the pain.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean knocked the shifter’s hand loose and spun when he heard his brother’s shout behind him.

Sam tackled the thing wearing his brother’s face as he wrenched the knife free from his hand. He rode him down to the floor and drove the blade into his neck; flinching internally at the image of slicing his own brother’s throat open. He put all his weight behind the knife and felt the point bite into the floor under them. A hand grabbed his wounded shoulder and he cried out as he was yanked backward.

“No!” Dean shouted as Laura took hold of his brother. He swung the gun around and fired into her back, taking her in the heart and she toppled into his brother. Dean let off another round at the other shifter behind her and then grunted as he was tackled to the floor by Cander and the thing wearing his brother’s face.

“Hold him!” Cander bellowed. He grabbed a hold of Dean’s arm and twisted viciously until he felt something snap, the man yelled and the gun clattered to the floor.

Dean’s vision went white with pain as he was flipped to his stomach. He felt shifter-Sam’s arm slide across his neck and looked out to find his real brother. “Sammy?” He saw his brother lying in a heap on the floor with Laura’s body on top of him. “Sam!”

“I don’t think your brother’s up for talking right now,” Cander snarled. He stood and dusted off his pants before walking over to them. He rolled Laura’s body off the younger Winchester and saw her dead eyes staring up at him and went cold with rage. He looked down at Sam, lying still atop his dead son and then at Laura’s brother; dead and resting against the wall where he’d fallen. “Now I really am going to kill you two,” he said softly.

“Sammy!” Dean slammed elbow back into shifter-Sam’s face and tried to roll to his back; heart thundering with fear for his brother.

“Sam’s busy bleeding.” Cander said angrily and turned to look at Dean with an evil smile. “You shot him.”

“What? NO!” Dean shook his head in denial even as he remembered the gun going off and the grunt of someone behind him. “You’re lying!”

Cander bent to Sam and dragged the man off his dead son. He flipped the younger Winchester to his back and pointed to a bleeding wound in his right thigh. “I think he’d still be up and fighting if not for that.” He put his foot on Sam’s thigh and pressed down hard.

Sam moaned with pain and slowly regained consciousness. White-hot agony burned in his leg and he opened his eyes to find the shifter, Cander, standing over him with a booted foot digging into his leg. “Stop!”

“Leave him alone!” Dean shouted and then lost his breath when the shifter holding him down rammed a fist into his kidney.

Sam rolled his head over and saw himself holding his brother down and punching him. It was surreal and made his head spin with confusion. He tried to sit up and grunted in fresh pain as Cander slammed a fist into his chest and knocked him back. The blow over his healing wounds took his breath away and left him dizzy and weak.

“Stay down,” Cander warned Sam, removed his foot and held up the gun. “Or I’ll put more holes in you until you do.” He smiled. “Better yet, I’ll put a few in big brother over there. Do we understand each other?”

Sam nodded, defeated and looked back to his brother. The thing wearing Sam’s face had stopped punching him and was simply pressing Dean’s face into the floor to keep him still. “Stop hurting him.”

“You killed my son, Sam.” Cander reached down and pulled his son’s knife out of the ruin of his throat. He gave the bloody blade a long look and looked down at Sam. “What will you do to save your brother?” he asked and knelt down on one knee beside him, holding the blade out for Sam to look at. “I need to kill one of you. I really do but I’m a generous guy, Sam. I can leave one of you alive. I kept my word before, didn’t I? So what will it be?”

Sam swallowed hard and looked over at his brother again.

“Sammy, don’t!” Dean yelled and groaned as the shifter wearing his brother’s face forced his head into the floor harder.

“Shut up.” Not-Sam grinned. “I really hope he says no because then I get to play with you, Dean.”

“Sam!” Dean tried to roll out from under the weight but it was too much. The shifter had all the leverage.

“Alright,” Sam said softly. “I won’t fight you. Take me just… let him go.”

“I will but not until I’m done.” Cander grinned now that he had what he wanted. He took hold of Sam’s t-shirt and slid the knife under the edge. He ripped upward with the blade and split the fabric, laying Sam’s wounded, bandaged chest bare and didn’t miss the rage-filled snarl from the other side of the room. He turned and met Dean’s murderous eyes. “You took some of my family away from me, Dean. Now I’m going to take one of yours.”

“No. No!” Dean watched the shifter bare his brother’s chest and suffered. “Take me instead! Come on! Don’t you touch him!”

“This is pretty stitch-work, Sam.” Cander smiled as he ripped the bandages away to reveal the healing wounds beneath. He placed the tip of the knife at the top of Sam’s sternum at the start of the row of stitches. “Looks like these are ready to come out. Let me help you with that.”

Sam shouted in pain and fought the need to roll away as the blade bit down the center of his chest, tearing stitches out as it went and leaving blood to trail over his skin. “Crap!” He only barely stopped himself from grabbing hold of the knife when he heard Dean grunt in pain.

“Good boy,” Cander chuckled. He took the corner of another bandage and ripped it free and then another.

“Sam!” Dean struggled under the shifter’s weight, trying to throw him off again.

“Knock it off!” Shifter-Sam slammed a hand down onto Dean’s injured arm and grinned as he cried out. “That might be broken. Dad’s got a hell of a grip. Let me check.”

Dean tried to pull his arm away and cried out again as the shifter’s fingers dug into his forearm cruelly. “Ah!” The sound of Sam’s gleeful laughter in his ear made his stomach twist with revulsion. His little brother should never sound like that.

“Stop it!” Sam did take hold of Cander’s hand before he could cut him again and glared up at him. He twisted the shifter’s hand to free the blade and couldn’t duck the fist that slammed into his jaw. Sam saw stars and then merciful blackness as his arm fell to the floor.

“Damn,” Cander sighed and sat back on his heels. “This isn’t as much fun if he’s not awake. His head’s still a little sensitive, huh?”

“Son of a bitch!” Dean planted one knee and finally managed to roll shifter-Sam off his back. He scrambled away with his left arm held to his chest and cursed himself for losing his gun. The shifter wearing his brother rolled to his feet with a snarl and advanced on Dean.

“That was a mistake, big brother.” Not-Sam growled and circled the hunter with a smile. “I’ve got all of Sammy’s thoughts in my head. I know how you fight. I know your moves. You can’t beat me.”

Dean shook his head, glancing over the creature’s shoulder to his brother. Cander still stood over Sam but for now seemed more interested in what Dean would do. He faced his brother’s sneering face again and felt the same spurt of fear Sam must have felt. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know he resents you… I… resent you.” Not-Sam kicked a leg out toward Dean’s knee that the man easily evaded. “Always telling me what to do, never listening to me. You’re just like dad was and I can’t stand you for it. First chance I get I’m gonna run away again. You know it.”

“Shut up.” Dean plucked the pot of half eaten chili off the stove with his good arm and threw it at Sam’s head. It glanced off his shoulder and spilled across the floor. “You’re not my brother, you son of a bitch and I know the kinda games you sick assholes play. I ain’t buyin’ it.” Dean backed up again until the stove was at his back. He put his good arm behind him and felt around for something else to use as a weapon; anything else. Before he could find something, the shifter was on him.

Not-Sam wrapped his bigger hand around Dean’s broken arm and squeezed until the man went to his knees with a cry of pain. “I’m gonna enjoy this, big brother.”

Dean looked up into Sam’s sneering face as a familiar hand closed around his throat. His heart clenched in anguish; finally understanding the nightmare his little brother had lived through. He gasped for breath as the hand squeezed and dug his fingers into the shifter’s wrist, trying to loosen his grip.

The door of the cabin burst inward suddenly and there was an explosion of gunfire. Dean blinked furiously as blood sprayed into his face from shifter-Sam’s chest. The grip on his throat loosened and Dean pulled in a ragged breath as he fell backward and the shifter toppled to the floor in front of him. It was jarring to watch his little brother’s eyes go dull and flat in death and Dean shook himself as a flare of gut-wrenching, knee-jerk horror worked through him. He looked up in time to watch Bobby’s rage-filled face as he leveled the gun at Cander and fired three times. The shifter staggered back and went over to his back on the floor; dead with a look of surprise etched onto his face.

“Bobby?” Dean asked hoarsely in disbelief.

“Knew I had a bad feelin’ about leavin’ you two alone so I hightailed it back here.” Bobby knelt and put shaky fingers to Sam’s throat. He smiled and dropped his head for a moment when he felt the thrum of the boy’s pulse. “Thank, God.”

“Sam.” Dean got to his knees and then used his good arm and the counter to get to his feet. He swayed while pain slammed through him from his arm but ignored it to go to his brother; his real brother. He stepped over the thing wearing Sam’s face and crossed the house. “Came outta nowhere, Bobby.” Dean went to his knees beside Sam. “I wasn’t ready. I should’a been ready.”

“No one could’a been ready for this, Dean.” Bobby looked around at the dead bodies littering the floor and shook his head. “You’re lucky to be alive, the both of ya’. What’s wrong with your arm?” He frowned and reached out but Dean flinched back.

“Probably broken.” Dean curled his left arm into his chest and reached out to Sam with the other. “More worried about him. Check his leg.”

Bobby moved and bent, cursing when he found the bleeding wound in Sam’s thigh. “Balls, is that a gunshot?”

Dean nodded and hung his head. “Wild shot when I got the gun away from the shifter wearing his face.” He gestured down to his hip. The bleeding had mostly stopped but the pain was still a steady presence. “Grazed me.”

“Never should have left you,” Bobby said softly as he took in his battered and bleeding boys.

“I’ve had one of these assholes in my head before, Bobby. I should have known they could find us.” Dean brushed Sam’s hair out of his face and hated himself a little more. “This one’s on me.” He frowned and then leaned down when he saw Sam’s eyes begin to move under his lids. “I think he’s comin’ around. Sammy?” He watched Sam’s eyes crack and then fly open fearfully. He had to grab one of Sam’s fists as it swung up toward his head. “Whoa! Whoa! Sam, it’s me! I mean real me! Relax! Stop!” Dean looked back and saw Bobby had grabbed his brother’s other arm. He hated restraining him after what they’d been through but there was little choice until he calmed down. “Sammy!”

The sharp, familiar cadence of Dean’s voice cut through the fog in Sam’s mind and he slowly stopped fighting. He looked up at his brother and saw the shine of genuine concern there. He swallowed once, hard and closed his eyes. “Dean. Sorry.”

“You got him, Sammy,” Dean reassured his brother and loosened his grip on his arm. “They’re dead. We’re ok. It’s ok.”

Sam opened his eyes again and stared, confused, at Bobby kneeling beside him. “You sure ‘bout that?”

Bobby grinned and patted the boy’s shoulder gently. “It’s me, Sam.” The grin faded as he took in the state of Sam’s chest and the reopened, bleeding wound down his sternum. “Here’s the deal boys. I can fix most of this. Hell, I can dig that bullet outta your leg, Sam. What I can’t fix is that.” He pointed to the arm Dean had curled to his chest. “We’re hittin’ the clinic down in town for that and we may as well let ‘em patch up Sam while we’re at it.”

Dean sighed in defeat and looked at his brother. Bobby was right. “You think you can get to the car, Sammy?”

Sam gave a short nod and held a hand out to Bobby. “I can make it if you can.”

“Come on.” Bobby stood, planted his feet and groaned as he dragged Sam slowly up and then ended up with the boy hunched over his shoulder and swaying. “Easy, Sam.”

“Sammy?” Dean rested his good hand on the back of his brother’s neck worriedly and saw his pale face.

“S’ok.” Sam forced himself to stand up on his own though he kept a firm grip on Bobby’s arm. “Room just… spinning a little.”

“You take another hit to the head, son?” Bobby asked and put a hand up to feel through Sam’s shaggy hair for a fresh bump but Sam shook his head.

“Punched me in the jaw.” Sam brushed his fingers over the sore spot on his face.

“Close enough, dammit.” Dean looked around the carnage and sighed for the mess they would have to clean up later. “Come on, before one of us falls the hell over.” He limped to the door and waited for Bobby and Sam. “How’s my baby?”

“Gimme two minutes I’ll unhook her from my truck.” Bobby told him as he steered Sam to the door. It wasn’t easy; the boy was too damn tall and barely walking on one leg to boot. “Here, Sam. Sit out here while I do that.” He eased the younger man down to the chair on the porch and wasn’t surprised when Dean limped over and sat in the one next to him. “She’s got a couple scratches on the back end,” He told Dean and smirked at the scowl. “That black dog decided to have a go at me while I was hookin’ her up. Soon’s I killed it, I kept waitin’ for the shifters to show up and when they didn’t… I just knew.”

“Glad you listen to your gut,” Dean told him sincerely. “Or we’d be dead.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Sam said wearily and let his aching head lean on the back of the chair. He felt Dean’s foot nudge his and opened his eyes to look at him. “M’ok.”

Bobby pulled a bandanna out of his pocket and gave it to Sam. “Put pressure on that wound, son. It’s still bleedin’.”

Sam folded the bandanna up and pressed it into his thigh while Bobby jogged down the steps and to the cars. “I thought I heard something outside and then you were behind me only it wasn’t you and… I’m sorry, Dean. He shouldn’t have gotten the drop on me like that.”

“Hey, knock it off.” Dean would have slapped his shoulder if he could have moved his left arm without screaming. “There were five of ‘em and I’d’a been pissed if you got yourself killed playin’ hero before I could get out there.”

Sam was surprised into a smile and nodded, knowing there was little point in arguing with his brother on this one. They would both hold their own guilt about this mess. “Alright.”

“Alright.” Dean watched Bobby unchaining the Impala from the back of his tow truck and swore he could see the claw marks on her back end in the moonlight. He looked back and saw his brother’s eyes closing as his head lolled to the side. “Sammy?” He waited but didn’t get a response and his concern ratcheted up. “Bobby! Hurry the hell up!”

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Sam lay across the back seat of the Impala and sighed in relief as the car finally stopped moving and they parked in front of the cabin.

“Don’t move, Sam. Let us help you.” Bobby warned the boy as he turned off the car and looked over at Dean. The elder Winchester had been none too happy about not driving but the wound on his left hip made it impossible for him to sit properly behind the wheel. He was canted sideways in the passenger seat which had the added benefit of letting him keep an eagle eye on his little brother.

“Oh forget it. I can get out on my own,” Dean told Bobby and snorted a laugh. “Somebody’s gotta help you get the princess outta the car.”

“Idjit,” Bobby said fondly and climbed out.

Dean turned carefully and opened the door. It had been a long night in the clinic, telling and retelling their threadbare story of a hunting accident over and over to doctors who didn’t quite believe them but could find no reason to call in the authorities. “Stay put, Sammy,”

“Right.” Sam rolled his eyes and resigned himself to being ‘handled’. He pushed himself up when the door behind him opened and Bobby was there with a hand on his back.

“I’m gonna pull ya’ out. Careful of that leg.” Bobby slid his arms under Sam’s shoulders, careful to stay away from the freshly stitched wound on his chest and pulled. The bullet that struck him had gone through muscle and lodged in the bone. Sam wouldn’t be walking anywhere without crutches for a few weeks. “Careful now.”

Sam nodded, already sweating from the pain as his thigh was jostled. “Crap,” he groaned and felt Dean’s hands before his leg left the car.

“We gotcha, Sammy.” Dean leaned against the side of the Impala and helped Bobby ease Sam out until they had him standing.

Sam leaned heavily against Dean and the car and caught his breath. “Getting really tired… of feeling like… m’gonna fall down.”

Dean chuckled and patted his back. “Yeah I know. Stop getting hit in the head and you’ll feel better.”

“Funny.” Sam pushed back enough to get his balance and let them slip under his arms on either side. He walked unsteadily, limping heavily up the stairs and into the cabin where they deposited him on the couch. He looked around and was surprised to see the bodies gone and the floor looking as though it had been recently cleaned.

Bobby smiled and patted Sam’s shoulder, seeing the look on his face. “Had the Addam’s family burnin’ out back all night while you two were laid up. They’re gone, Sam.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” Sam leaned back into the corner of the couch, put his head back and closed his eyes. He was exhausted. “M’just gonna stay here for a bit.”

“Good idea.” Dean limped over to the kitchen and grabbed the empty coffee pot. He glanced back at Sam and leaned against the counter. “Did a good job cleaning up in here, Bobby.”

Bobby nodded. “Well, I didn’t want either of ya’ comin’ back to that mess. You didn’t need to see ‘em again.” He reached out and took the pot from Dean. “Gimme that. Go sit down before ya’ fall down.”

Dean smiled and nodded wearily. Rather than the bedroom, he went and slid down into the chair next to the couch and his brother. He rested his newly casted left arm, fractured in two places, in his lap and let his head fall back. “Wake me when there’s coffee.” He drifted for a while on the painkillers the hospital had given him, sometimes sleeping and sometimes listening to Bobby putter around the cabin. Into that silence, the sound of Sam’s voice floated and Dean frowned. He fought his way back to full consciousness when he heard Sam whimper.

“Sammy.” Dean moved from the chair to the side of the couch as Sam began to shift in his nightmare. He took hold of Sam’s right arm to protect himself and nudged his shoulder. “Wake up, dude. Just a nightmare. Sam.”

Sam shot awake with adrenaline coursing through his system and instinctively flinched back from Dean leaning over him. “Crap!”

“Whoa! Its’ just me. You’re ok.” Dean’s heart broke a little with the flinch as it did every time but he smiled until his brother began to calm. He put a hand to the side of Sam’s neck and gave it a squeeze of reassurance. “You ok? Know where you are?”

Sam took a moment and then nodded. He closed his eyes and tried to stop his pounding heart. “Yeah. Yeah. We’re uh… the cabin. Sorry.” He brought a hand up and scrubbed it down his face before looking at Dean again and felt awful for flinching away from him. “Sorry, man. I was dreaming…”

“Yeah, I get that. Don’t worry about it.” Dean released his brother’s arm and watched him. “How you feelin’?”

“Hammered crap,” Sam said easily and gave a weak smile. “Better though.” He took comfort in the warm weight of Dean’s hand on his neck; the age old gesture reassuring him like little else could that it really was his brother and not the shifter. “How about you?” He tapped his brother’s casted arm lightly.

Dean shrugged. “Still in one piece.” He smirked at the disbelief on his brother’s face. “Well I will be.” He looked up when Bobby came in the front door and raised a brow at the bags in his arms. “Shopping trip?”

“Thought I’d make you boys some more chili since the last batch ended up decoratin’ the floor.” Bobby grinned.

“Oh, man,” Sam sighed and chuckled along with his brother.

“What?” Bobby looked between them and scowled. “You knockin’ my chili?”

“Hell no.” Dean rose from the couch with a grin and took Sam’s arm, helping his brother up to his feet. “Your chili could come eat me in the middle of the night.”

Sam laughed and held on to his brother. “We love your chili, Bobby.”

“Yeah, we’re just not fond of what it does to us.” Dean ducked the swing Bobby sent to the back of his head with a laugh.

“Just for that, you’re choppin’ the damn onions.” Bobby growled at them and went to the counter. He smiled and turned to watch his boys helping each other stand.

“Got a busted wing here, Bobby.” Dean raised his casted arm and pointed to his brother. “Sam’s on chopping duty.”

“Awesome,” Sam groaned but he smiled as they limped toward the small table in the kitchen and he lowered himself into a chair, stretching his sore leg out in front of him. Watching Dean annoy Bobby as he went through the bags and the good-natured jab the older man took at his brother’s ribs helped settle the last of Sam’s nerves. He caught the onion Dean tossed to him and resisted the urge to lob it at the back of his head. It might take a while before he wouldn’t wake with the nightmare of Dean’s snarling face over him but he would get there. He had before. He smiled and started peeling the onion with a lighter heart and a perfect excuse for the tears in the corners of his eyes.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_The End._


End file.
